


The House Beyond Sunrise

by andromedabennet



Category: The 100 (TV), The 100 Series - Kass Morgan
Genre: Alternate Mythology, Alternate Universe - Canon, Autumn, Cabin Fic, Canon-Typical Violence, East of the Sun and West of the Moon Elements, Episode: s06e07 Nevermind, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fantasy, Fluff, Grounder Bellamy Blake, Grounder Culture, Grounder Octavia Blake, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Eros and Psyche (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore), Mount Weather, Mythology References, Post-Mount Weather, Sharing a Bed, Suicidal Thoughts, oh my god they were roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:53:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25978528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedabennet/pseuds/andromedabennet
Summary: “And you have a name?” She asked.“I told you that I’m occasionally a formless collection of energy and you’re worried about my name?”“If a formless collection of energy plans to share my bed, I’d like to know its name. It’s the minimum requirement for entry."There was a pause. The annoying thing about an unseen companion, she realized, was that you could only judge them by the words they spoke and the times they didn’t. It made her wish she could see his face, at least a little. Maybe just an outline in the moonlight. But he was like a dark void on the other side of the bed, an almost glaring nothingness.Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m Bellamy.”“Nice to meet you, Bellamy. I’m Clarke. And I’m going to sleep now. Don’t kill me before sunrise.”—Clarke led her people to the safety of Commander Octavia's lands on her own. In the aftermath of Mount Weather though, she knew she couldn't stay. So she traveled alone to a cabin hidden deep in the woods — only she wasn't alone at all.An AU Grounder!Bellamy story with a different take on Grounder culture and mythology.Based on the myth of Cupid and Psyche and the fairytale East of the Sun and West of the Moon.
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 198
Kudos: 372





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is my new mini-passion project. The chapters are all a lot shorter than anything in my other WIP Skate the Line, so I can bang them out a little bit quicker. I've really been enjoying writing this — it's much more intimate than anything else I've written, which makes it a fun challenge.

Clarke walked back to Octavia’s settlement Actium in silence, a string of skypeople, weary and broken in innumerable ways by what had happened to them since coming to the ground, trailing along behind her.

When they had come to the ground, full of hope for a future living in the place of their birthright, they never could’ve anticipated the sequence of events that followed. Now there were only tired, hopeless people looking for a home.

Octavia met them at the gate, her high ponytail swinging behind her. Combined with the black paint around her eyes, she looked severe. Most people would think she was, but Clarke knew there was a hidden insecurity to the girl. A leader of her people too early, forced to make the hard decisions.

But Clarke also trusted her, a rare commodity on the ground. Trust, violence, and kindness were really the only currencies left in the world.

“So you survived after all, Clarke kom Skaikru. I’m impressed. No one has ever returned to us.”

“The mountainmen are gone — all of them.”

Octavia nodded, walking alongside Clarke through the settlement while the survivors returned to their tents or — if they were lucky prior to everything happening — their cabins. Some were taken to medical, and an unlucky few were carried in to await burials or the pyre.

“How many were lost?”

“Twenty-one skypeople were lost giving their bone marrow before we could stop them. Eight of your people died trying to get in — I’m sorry that we couldn’t help them more. Things might’ve been different if we had managed to open the doors, and I appreciate you sending a team to try to help us. We did rescue forty-four other grounders, though. They’d been kept in cages for their blood.”

“Twenty-nine deaths to bring down the Mountain. Hundreds of our collective people saved. Thousands more who will never know the threat of the mountainmen. It’s not as bad as you think. After so many years plagued by reapers and the yellow fog, we are finally safe. You must see this as a victory, Clarke,” Octavia said, looking over to her. “You don’t return in high spirits. Even still, you are a hero.”

Clarke stared sightlessly into the distance, noticing in an offhand way how the leaves were starting to look less green on the trees. She’d spent so much time being trapped in the Mountain that she’d missed the second half of summer.

“It’s not a victory for me. My people are safe, and now we will all be safe from the threats they posed. But Octavia…” she said, a lump growing heavy in her throat. She tried to push it down. That’s what leaders did, especially when in the public eye. “I had no choice in the end. They forced me into a position where I either had to kill all of the mountainmen, even the children and the people who’d helped us, or they would kill every single skyperson.”

Octavia looked over at her from the corner of her eye. “And it sounds like you made the right decision.”

“I—” she swallowed again. “I’m not sure I did. There must have been another solution.”

“The ground is a difficult place to survive, and we are raised to fight against any enemy to continue surviving. If Skaikru had proven to be our enemy, we would’ve destroyed you too. But instead we are allies, and now you have freed us of the greatest threat to our survival. We are indebted to you. Maybe there was another solution, and maybe not. All I know, all anyone on the ground knows, is that victory stands on the back of sacrifice. You will adapt to that way of thinking quickly enough.”

“It doesn’t though. Not really. I didn’t sacrifice anything to survive; I just forced three hundred and eighty-four other people to be casualties in a war being waged on their side by a few politicians and doctors.”

Octavia stopped her just outside the command buildings. Her own quarters, hardly any larger than anyone else’s despite her status as Commander of the town, were just around the corner. Clarke’s were also nearby, given to her as a mark of respect when the Ark had first come to the ground and made peace with Octavia’s Actiumites. Clarke had led them there, children and adults alike, after the members of the council had perished in their separate dropship. When she’d negotiated for peace with Octavia and her husband Lincoln, she’d become the de facto leader of the Skaikru faction of their camp, despite the fact that integrating into their new society was the ultimate goal.

“Clarke, listen to me. You did have to make a sacrifice to bring your people home. You’ve sacrificed your peace of mind, and maybe a little piece of the part of you that feels most human.” Octavia’s eyes glazed over as she spoke. “I understand this. You weren’t here for the dark years. They are a time I never really speak of—”

Clarke opened her mouth, as though to inquire, but Octavia cut her off.

“—And I _won’t_ speak of them, to you or anyone else,” she said, voice suddenly harsher for a moment. Clarke often forgot that under all of Octavia’s hard-won wisdom was a fierce, angry, damaged warrior. “But they will always haunt my memories. I will never forget the things I was willing to do to save my people. And you will never forget this.”

Clarke looked down at the ground, grass greyer than it used to be under her feet. The whole settlement of Actium looked sapped of color. The joy and relief of finally being on the ground was gone.

“And they’ll never thank you for it, either. They will always expect strength from you in times of crisis. Sometimes it feels like the weight only ever gets heavier.”

Octavia sighed, her shoulders relaxing after a moment, like she had finally learned to bear that weight.

“But there is something they can never take from you — both your enemies _and_ your people. They will want your soul. They’ll want to pick you apart piece by piece for their own survival until there is nothing left of you to give. And you shouldn’t let them. Your struggles are yours; your battle scars are yours; your fears are yours. But so is your soul. They haven’t taken it away from you. It is yours to reconcile with.”

Clarke looked at Octavia, seeing again the girl under the harsh warpaint. She could only be twenty-five at most. So young to carry such burdens. “It sounds like a lot of trouble, reconciling myself to what I’ve done.”

“We never really do these things alone. We can’t give all of ourselves to all of our people, but we can give parts of ourselves to others. There must be someone here that you trust.”

She thought back to everything that had happened since they came to the ground; the death of her mother, the loss of Wells before they reached Actium, and the trouble with Finn and Raven. “I don’t have any confidants among my people. At least not anymore. I do trust you of course, as well as Lincoln. You have both been so good to us. But there is no one I can trouble with this.”

Octavia nodded her head slowly, clearly thinking through Clarke’s words. “You should rest, Clarke. The journey is long, and I expect yours has been one of the longest. We can talk again when you’ve slept.”

***

Clarke woke up gasping, torn from sleep by another nightmare. The sky outside was still dark, but there was a faint grey light on the horizon. Daybreak couldn’t be all that far off, meaning she’d actually slept better that night than any in the past two and half weeks since their return.

The light on the horizon was her favorite thing about being unceremoniously pulled away from anything remotely restful each night. At least on earth she could trace the pattern of stars in the sky before watching the sunrise. On the Ark, the only thing that signified the change between an artificial ‘night’ and ‘day’ was the lighting system. Here, even the horrors of her life could be a little bit beautiful.

“Clarke?” Raven mumbled, words heavy and sleep-laden.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”

After the Finncident and the war against the Mountain, Raven had sheepishly asked to move into a new tent. Clarke had offered her space in her own cabin, not wanting to attempt sleep in a completely silent room. She wasn’t sure they were really friends in any sense of the word, but Raven’s breathing at night was a steady, soothing sound. And she thought maybe her presence comforted Raven in return. No one really wanted to be alone after Mount Weather.

“You’ve had nightmares every night since we got back.”

“Don’t you?” She asked, voice heavy with grief. She wasn’t really all that curious about the answer, having assumed that everyone was struggling to adapt.

Raven rolled over, her face pressing more firmly into her pillow. “Not every night.”

“Then I wish I had your subconscious fortitude.” Before Raven could say anything else, Clarke stood up and pulled on a sweater that had been gifted to her by the mother of a grounder man who had been saved from the Mountain. “Go back to sleep. I’m going to check on—” she paused, thinking of an excuse, though it hardly mattered with Raven already half dead to the world, “—winter provisions.”

“Mm. Checking stores before the sun is even up. Makes sense,” she slurred mockingly into her pillow. “Try to take care of yourself a little, Clarke.”

Clarke didn’t bother dignifying that with a response, already out the door.

***

She’d taken to wandering over the hills outside the walls of Actium each day midmorning. It wasn’t that she didn’t have responsibilities like everyone else, but she often found that she couldn’t do them. She could work with the hunters, but she balked at the idea of carrying a weapon around others. She could help preserve the food for the coming winter, but she couldn’t trust herself to focus on so important a task. She could even serve on Octavia’s council at the Commander’s own request, but she shuddered at the idea of being at the helm of any decision making again.

So instead she disappeared into the mist each morning as the camp arose to work, walking through the tall grasses and hiding among the trees. 

She liked this part of her day. The trees did not care that she was skipping out on important duties that would protect all of Actium, both grounders and skypeople alike. They didn’t care about the things she’d done to get here. They were tall and still and silent, only allowing for the quiet whisper of the wind between their leaves and the birdcalls from their branches. These were the kinds of sounds that felt like a balm to her beleaguered soul.

When she returned that day, the twenty-seventh day since their escape, Octavia was waiting by the hole in the wall she snuck out through.

“Clarke,” she said, nodding once to her. Her voice seemed heavy, filled with the weighted disappointment of a leader.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke was quick to offer, despite feeling nothing of the sort. She didn’t feel much of anything, really. “I shouldn’t have been slacking off. I’ll work harder this afternoon.”

Octavia shook her head, dark hair shifting around her shoulders. “I know the process is slow. But still, I don’t think being here is helping you.”

“It’s better than being anywhere else.” Then Clarke blinked, realizing the tenor of Octavia’s words. “You aren’t forcing me away, are you? My people are here; I have to protect them.”

“I’m not forcing you away, Clarke. You won’t be banished for skipping morning work. But I don’t know that being here, surrounded by your people, is actually beneficial anymore.”

Clarke tried to keep herself from tearing up. Every time she was around Octavia these days she found herself wanting to cry. Octavia, at least, understood the burden of leadership.

“I can’t face them anymore, knowing what I’ve done to protect them. It’s not their fault. But I see the faces of the dead when I look at them.”

Octavia looked out beyond the wall at the hills in the distance, perhaps seeing the faces of those she had sacrificed in the name of survival. Before Clarke had a chance to sink into the silence, Octavia returned to herself.

“I won’t make you leave. But you might choose to leave if you like. For however long you want. Your people are safe here. They have sworn an oath, and they’re my people too. The burden of protecting them is on my shoulders, and I have the help of Lincoln and my advisors to manage it. You can take time to center yourself again. You’re no use to them like this anyhow.”

Clarke’s eyes traced the wood in front of them, seeing a light path trodden into the earth after being worn down by many feet. “Where would I go? I don’t know anything about earth.”

Octavia rolled her eyes. “You led your people here without any knowledge of earth. Then, when you were captured by the Mountain, you escaped and led them all here again, even though you were unconscious when they took you in the first place. The land speaks to you.”

“I don’t think that’s it. It’s always just luck borne out of desperation.”

“I don’t put much faith in luck. But to answer your question, there is a cabin a few days northeast of here. There aren’t any other significant settlements between here and it, at least if you’re traveling the right way, so you should have safe passage. Last I visited, it was still empty.”

“Still empty? Did someone live there before?”

Octavia looked away from her. “My brother lived there once.”

“I didn’t know you have a brother.”

She noticed the way Octavia tensed, jaw locking uncomfortably. When she spoke, her voice was low and dark.

“I don’t.”

***

She sat by the fire that night, watching idly as the flames bounced around in a lively sort of contained chaos. Another thing she’d never seen on the Ark — an open flame larger than what was produced by a Bunsen burner. She liked the way the dry heat of the fire felt on her face in the cooler evening air.

And she especially liked the smell. There was something so grounding about a smell like that, rich and deep and encompassing, like the scent could drag her down into the earth with it and she wouldn’t mind. It was heavy in the air around her as the light of the flames bounced across the planes of her face, making her want to sink further into the dirt bit by bit, starting at her feet until she was consumed. 

Instead, she was pulled away from her thoughts as Lincoln sat down next to her.

“Octavia says you might leave.”

She glanced at him briefly before turning back to the fire. “I don’t know yet. I haven’t made up my mind.”

“You could, though. If you wanted. I wouldn’t let harm come to your people.”

“I know,” she sighed. “I really do trust both you and Octavia. And she’s proven herself to be a good and fair leader.”

“You don’t have to protect them all the time,” he smiled sadly. “I tell Octavia the same thing. She finally started listening a few years ago. I’m not certain she’s ever fully happy, but she’s closer now than she used to be. You could get there, too. Life has to be about more than survival sometimes.”

She nodded, the sounds of the people around them fading as she stared into the reds and oranges that jumped along the burning logs. The sparks crackled into the night sky, following the smoke into oblivion.

“That sounds nice,” she said finally.

“Then you should keep considering it. I’ve been to the cabin once before. It’s nice there, right by a crystal clear lake. I think you’ll like it.”

“Octavia’s brother’s cabin,” she said, not really a question. Testing the words in her mouth; testing his reaction to them.

He didn’t say anything, but his expression didn’t change either. He simply nodded his head, seemingly uninterested in talking about it further.

Finally, after she has fully given herself over to the warmth of the fire she’d been so enamored by, she said quietly to herself, “I’ll consider it.”

***

By the next morning, she’d already packed up her few possessions and items of clothing into a rucksack. She’d even managed to say goodbye to Raven and ferret away a bit of food for herself to eat along the way before the sun had risen in the sky.

Octavia found her quickly, standing near the gate. “So you’ve decided then.”

“I have. I don’t know when I’ll be back.”

“There’s no point in rushing. Your burdens will still be here when you return if you miss them that much.”

She gave Clarke a piece of parchment with a map on it, but it did appear to be a pretty straightforward northeastern trek. Clarke thanked her for the information, tucking the map away for safekeeping.

“You’ll want these too,” Octavia said, holding out a gun in one hand and the shortsword she’d previously had strapped to her back in the other.

“Wasn’t I going away to escape the violence?” Clarke asked, a forced lightness in her voice.

“You’re going away to accept your demons. But when violence finds us, it’s better to be prepared.”

Clarke took the weapons while Octavia helped her put on the scabbard for the sword so it sat comfortably along her spine. She packed extra ammunition in Clarke’s bag as well. “Just in case. And anyway, you’ll need to hunt.”

“Thank you, Octavia. Really, for everything. You’ve been more than generous with us.”

Octavia clasped Clarke’s hand in both of her own. “Your people are my people. Our ways will become your ways. We are of the same spirit, Clarke. I see so many of my own struggles in you.” Her gaze was piercing. _“Oso gonplei nou ste odon.”_

Clarke let the unfamiliar words wash over her. “What does it mean?”

Octavia smiled, something Clarke had rarely seen her do. “Like I said, we are the same. This isn’t the end of our fight. I’m certain of it — we have more yet to do. Maybe for our people. Or maybe for ourselves.”

Clarke let the words settle into her skin as she set off into the forest. Not away from her past, hopefully, but instead towards redemption. Towards peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Oso gonplei nou ste odon" = Our fight isn't over
> 
> I have a bad habit of writing stories where Bellamy doesn't come in until chapter 2. It's unintentional, but fear not for he will be in the next chapter, which I hope to be posting shortly.
> 
> Also, if anyone got Clarktavia vibes from this... same. The notes for this chapter were basically "Clarke returns from MW and Octavia tells her to go to the cabin to clear her head", but then I started writing and it came out like this. It honestly made me really want to write an AU version of Bloodreina!Octavia and Wanheda!Clarke helping each other heal. After I finish this story, I think I'm gonna remix chapter 1 and give it a Clarktavia ending, because now I can't unsee it.
> 
> Never fear though, Bellarkes, because this is actually going to be a Bellamy and Clarke story. I swear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Bellamy.

Clarke walked for three days through the dense forest, slipping between trees and over brooks. She felt certain she could’ve made the trip in two days, but this was the first time she’d traveled any considerable distance from Actium without feeling that her life was in imminent danger. It felt like a pity not to take the opportunity to look around.

The leaves, so green when they’d first landed on earth that she’d felt overwhelmed by the vibrancy, were starting to turn all kinds of yellows and oranges. The whole forest looked aflame in the early morning sunlight, a soft golden hue peaking through the branches and coating the world in warmth. There was something enchanting about it, making her feel full to the brim with hope, even if there wasn’t much cause for it in her reality.

It reminded her of a long-buried memory of a book on the Ark she’d read. It was one of the few physical books that existed in space, and was thus kept under careful supervision at all times, but her parents had helped her get access to it when she was old enough to be trusted not to damage it. The book was about a girl growing up in the time before the bombs, and she’d remarked that she was glad to  _ live in a world where there are Octobers.  _ Clarke hadn’t understood the passage much at the time, having no real concept of  _ months _ or  _ seasons _ on the Ark. October was an abstract idea to her, one that existed only in fiction.

She understood it now. It might be October, or it might not be. She wasn’t sure the grounders even used months to denote the passage of time anymore, perhaps sticking to seasonal shifts or some other way to break up a year. But she could feel the Octoberness of the crisp morning air each day as she began her walk. There was a smell to October too — a musky sweet scent as the leaves began their decaying process. Some had already fallen to the ground, crunching underfoot as she made her journey.

The world was dying as it did each year, but it made Clarke feel strangely alive for the first time in so long. There was a sweet nostalgia in her heart for a time she’d never known and a place she’d never been. She only hoped that she might one day find it.

On the morning of the third day, she stumbled over a fallen tree trunk, hardly noticing the deer until she was right upon it.

Earth Skills had always taught her that smaller wild animals would generally flee when humans came across them. But this deer, like several of the animals she’d seen since landing, didn’t seem frightened by her. Even with frequent hunting parties being sent out by the Actiumites and various other grounder settlements, there simply weren’t enough people in the wild to create the association between humans and a fear response.

The deer stared at her, it’s black eyes bottomless and empty. Then, turning to the side, a second head sprouting from the creature’s neck spent a moment taking her in.

Octavia had told her that two headed animals were uncommon but not unheard of. She’d replied immediately that it was an effect of the radiation, but Octavia had just looked at her with polite reproach.

“The two headed creatures are sent by the gods, Clarke,” she’d said seriously. “One head sees your virtues, the other your flaws. They stare into our past, seeing our fears and hopes and desires, judging us according to whether we are worthy.”

“And what happens if you’re unworthy?”

“Nothing in this life, I suppose. Perhaps you will not be granted an honorable death. But death is not the end, so the unworthy can’t be certain of what will come to them next.”

“And when the animal looks at you… do you know if it has found you wanting?”

Octavia had pursed her lips, face tight like she knew her own perceived worth and didn’t like it. “I think anyone who knows their own heart is aware, in that moment, of the weight of their soul.”

The deer continued to stare at her, it’s eyes revealing nothing. She wanted to look away, break the tension of the moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. The world around her suddenly felt as though it had been paused mid-breath, held on a knife’s edge. The wind did not stir. The birds did not sing. The golden sun seemed suddenly colder. And all the while, she couldn’t look away from the deer.

Finally, after several long seconds spent in suspended silence, the deer bobbed it’s head down once, almost as though to nod in acknowledgment to her. She wondered idly if she had been found wanting.

Only a day before, she would’ve thought the whole idea of being judged by a two headed animal was absurd, but she was suddenly certain that the deer had seen something in her. Something bad, she was sure. The death of hundreds of innocents. The blood of children. She twisted her hands, wishing she could wash them again.

As the deer ran off towards the west, she suddenly wished that she had never stumbled upon it. It was one thing to think you had lost your humanity, so deep in the guilt of your choices that you could hardly bear it. It was another thing entirely to know for certain that your essence was rotten at its core. There were some evils you could never walk away from.

***

She finally reached the cabin just as the twilight began sapping the light from the sky. She used her shoulder to help open the door, assuming it would require some muscle to unstick from where it had settled into its frame, but the door opened surprisingly easily, flying around on its hinges to compensate for her use of force.

She passed gingerly over the threshold, aware that the house was only probably empty — there was nothing to say that a rogue grounder hadn’t made a home here in the years since Octavia’s last visit. After a thorough check of the space though, she found herself alone. There was a small sitting room, a rudimentary kitchen and hearth, a proto-bathroom, and a bedroom with a mattress topped with quilts and animal furs. She felt tired just looking at it.

First things first though, she had to start a fire. The hearth would hopefully keep the whole of the little cabin warm, and the sun’s descent made that imperative. The air inside wasn’t as cold as she’d worried it might be, but it would only get worse the longer she waited. Luckily, after several months on the ground fighting to stay alive, she was fairly good at fires. Not quite to the pyromaniac levels of Raven and Jasper, but certainly enough to get by.

She found a few logs by the fireplace and got to work. There was still ash in the bottom of the fireplace which wasn’t unexpected, but it did make her pause for a second, taking in the rest of the cabin. She might’ve thought that an abandoned building in the woods would naturally become untidy, spiderwebs in the corners and all bits of leaves and dirt sneaking their way in from outside. The floors and the walls were remarkably clean though; the only thing that was remotely dirty was the ash in the hearth.

In truth, she didn’t know  _ that much _ about the natural decay of buildings left untended, so perhaps it would’ve taken years still for critters and foliage to force their way in. But it felt odd, at least for a moment.

Once the kindling had managed to catch the logs on fire, she was quickly distracted. Whatever this place was, it would be her solace. One day, should she choose, she would have her home and people to return to, but for now, this little cabin was the only place in the world for her.

She ate a quick supper from the food she’d brought with her, supplemented by a rabbit she’d caught along the way. She would have to start setting traps and hunting soon. Winter would come before long, and she’d need all the time left to prepare.

That night, she laid down amidst the furs and quilts on the bed, feeling enveloped in a warmth completely unfamiliar to her. There was no more cold, clinical recycled air as there had been on the Ark. She couldn’t smell the musty earthiness of the Mountain. And, as lovely a settlement as Actium had been, she wasn’t bombarded with the scent of cool air mixed with animal dung. Here, the air was crisp and fresh, heated by the flickering, leaping flames of the hearth. Everything around her smelt of burning wood and autumn. The floorboards creaked as the house settled. 

She laid there feeling comforted for the first time in so long. She wasn’t sure how laying under a few furs while being cocooned in the inviting smells of the earth could feel so much like a hug from her father considering he had never been to the ground, but it did.

And for the first time, she thought of her parents, wondering if they would be proud of the woman she was becoming. 

She felt certain that they wouldn’t be.

***

The next morning, she was surprised to see the hearth still burning. She’d forgotten to bank it before falling asleep, but she’d assumed it would’ve burned out in the night, leaving only cold embers by the time she was awoken from her nightmares. 

Only the nightmares didn’t come, and she awoke with the sun to see a still-burning fire. Everything about this place was an odd sort of curiosity, but she hoped it would continue. A few nights of dreamless sleep would do her a world of good.

She spent the morning dusting the limited amount of furniture in the space, though there wasn’t much dust about. She also looked over the kitchen, trying to prepare herself for the reality of having to cook for the foreseeable future. 

She spent the afternoon setting small traps around the cabin, hoping to catch enough to tide her over while she worked in the coming days to hunt bigger game.

When she returned to the cabin, the furs on the bed had been straightened in a way she was certain wasn’t her doing. The fire, though smaller than before, was still burning. She felt sure that there were fewer logs on the pile than when she’d left.

In a sudden fit of worry, she scrambled through the cabin, looking in every corner for whoever was tidying up after her. Everywhere she looked, though, was empty. The house was as quiet as when she’d first entered it.

“Octavia speaks of magic and spirits and gods like they’re real,” she said aloud, as though speaking to a ghost or perhaps the house itself. “I didn’t believe her, because it all  _ sounds  _ like a silly superstition.” Then she glanced around her, taking in every bit of the space with narrowed eyes, hoping that she’d catch something lurking. The look on her face clearly said  _ but now I’m not sure it was nonsense after all. _

Still, with no evidence of exactly what was happening, she was loath to leave her new accommodations, comfortable as they were. No, the ground was a weird enough place on its own, and there could be some bizarre but reasonable enough explanation for this. She would only leave if things got weirder. It would just require a keen eye and some caution.

***

To Clarke’s dismay, things did get weirder over the next few days. The fire was almost always tended to, even if she didn’t bother with it all day. The bed always made itself while she wasn’t looking. And one day, after returning home from a long and disappointing day of hunting, she returned to find a few plump berries sitting innocuously on the small kitchen table.

If she hadn’t eaten the very same kind of berries in Actium, she would’ve assumed they were a poisonous fruit. And even then, there was nothing to say that the gift-giver hadn’t laced them with a poison.

She was curious though. Curious, and a little too blasé about her mortality for her own good. If the person leaving the gifts wanted to kill her, they’d probably already wasted several prime opportunities to do so.

So she ate the berries, eyes roving around the space challengingly. The taste was sweet and tart on her lips.

When she fell asleep that night, warmed by the fire she hadn’t had to build herself, she felt oddly at peace with the whole situation. She didn’t know what her cabin ghost wanted from her, but it didn’t seem malicious.

That night, as she drifted off among the furs, she felt certain, just for a moment, that the bed had dipped down on the other side, shifting as though someone was getting in beside her. And she might’ve panicked more about the whole thing, but she was already entering unconsciousness. 

Surely it was just a dream anyway.

***

The next afternoon when she returned from collecting water from the pond, there were more berries sitting on the table, held in a crude little handwoven basket. Whoever her ghost was, they were clearly either trying to lower her guard or they actually just wanted to feed her.

She tested another berry, finding it just as sweet as those from the day before. She drank huge gulps of water while she ate her way through the fruits.

Then, as she made her way towards the hearth to add another log into the flames, she saw a strange little ripple of air near the window. It almost looked like how she had imagined wind might look when she’d been living on the Ark — like there was some small visual cue to show that the air was in motion beyond the rustling of leaves and the sway of grasses. She thought there might be a certain shimmer just out of the corner of your eye as it blew past, only to discover that didn’t work that way at all.

Only the ripple near the window… she felt almost completely certain that she hadn’t imagined it. At some point, perhaps, spending so much time in isolation might begin to mess with her mind, but she didn’t think she was already in danger of that. Which meant that the simplest answer was that her ghost was probably lurking about right now, watching her. 

She squinted her eyes as though stubborn determination would uncover whatever it was that she couldn’t see. She didn’t find anything of course, though she felt more on edge for the rest of the evening, certain that she wasn’t entirely alone.

That night she changed for bed quickly, wary of what might be watching. She didn’t bring much clothing along with her, but she kept the most threadbare outfit for sleeping — the fire and the furs would keep her warm anyhow.

She climbed into the bed, laying on her side facing the fire. While she didn’t think the ghost would hurt her, she also felt as though she didn’t want to see an attack coming if things were to go that way. Any help she could get from others would be at least a day’s trip walking, so if her companion wanted her dead, there wasn’t much she could do about it anyhow.

She laid in bed for a good while, watching with tired eyes as the fire crackled merrily, heedless entirely of the strange circumstances. Soon enough though, she found her eyes slipping closed. She didn’t plan to sleep quite yet, but she was glad to be resting her eyes after a long day.

It felt as though she was standing on a cliff’s edge, waiting to see if the rocks beneath her feet would crumble. She couldn’t exist within this fragile moment of anticipation forever.

Then, just as she began relaxing herself into the bed as her breathing slowed, she felt a moment behind her, like the quilt was being lifted up gently to allow someone to crawl under it. Her muscles tensed and the hairs on her arms stood up as the bed shifted.

Her back still to the intruder, she said calmly, “Who are you?”

All movement stopped. Then — 

“Oh,” said a deep, quiet voice behind her. “I’m sorry. I thought you were asleep.”

Still she didn’t roll over, almost afraid of what she might see if she did. He might just be a normal man, somehow sneaking around when she wasn’t looking. Or maybe he really was some kind of ghost. But there was also a lingering fear that the person behind her might be something grotesque and inhuman. It wasn’t sensible to keep herself ignorant of a potential threat, but she couldn’t bring herself to look.

“Did you think it was okay to join me as long as I didn’t know about it?”

“No, I guess not. Only…” the voice paused.

“Only?”

“Well, this is my bed. I didn’t really mind sharing, of course. And I guess I can sleep on the ground, if you’d prefer.”

She felt the bed shift again, tentatively this time as though the ghost was uncertain of her reaction.

“No,” she sighed, almost surprised by her own resigned words. “I didn’t realize someone lived here. I can’t kick you out of your own bed.”

The man settled himself, keeping enough distance between them that they weren’t touching — that is, if there was really anything to touch.

“Thank you. Sorry if I, uh… startled you.”

“Did you leave the berries?”

“Yeah. I know— I know that must’ve been weird. I just thought you might be hungry.”

She never expected to pity her intruder, but his voice sounded so awkward as he tried to explain that she nearly managed it.

“Have you slept in the bed before? When I didn’t know?”

“Only last night. Before that I tried to sleep elsewhere, but it’s getting colder, and this really is the warmest place to sleep.”

“You can feel the cold?” She asked, surprised.

His response was equally confused. “Yes?” 

She peeked over her shoulder gingerly — it was weird to feel  _ guilty  _ for trying to figure him out, but she did. But just before her eyes could lock on anything, the firelight suddenly disappeared, as though someone had thrown a bucket of water on it. The room was still warm, but she couldn’t see anything, including the other side of the bed.

She jumped with the suddenness of the dark. “What was that?”

“Sorry. The fire died out, but the coals should keep us warm for a while.”

“The fire didn’t  _ die out,  _ it was extinguished. How did that happen?”

The bed shifted again, like he was uncomfortable being asked this question. “It’s because you tried to look at me.”

“Because I tried to—” she said incredulously before cutting herself off. “Of course I tried to look at you! Why would that happen? Are you a ghost?”

There was another pause before he hummed, clearly considering his response. “It depends on what you consider to be a ghost, I guess.”

“Are you dead?”

“No.”

“But you’re invisible?”

“Sometimes. It wouldn’t make much sense for the fire to die out when you tried to look at me if I was invisible all the time.”

“So you aren’t invisible now?”

“I’m not really sure that I ever really qualify as visible. But I’m… tangible now, less formless than I am sometimes in the daylight hours.”

“So  _ sometimes _ you’re a ghost?”

“More like… Hm, more like a spirit, or a particularly cognizant breeze.”

“And is your  _ breeziness  _ tied to the house?” She asked, noting for just a moment that she was right about the wind she’d seen earlier.

“To the house?”

“Yes. Sometimes that happens to ghosts in stories. Their spirit becomes tied to a place and then they can’t ever leave it.”

“No. I mean, I guess the breeziness might be, but I’m not technically tied here or anywhere.”

“So if you aren’t dead, but you aren’t always  _ tactile, _ then what are you?”

“That’s a long story,” he said in a brusque manner. It was clearly something he didn’t have any desire to discuss.

“But you’re a person?”

“Of a sort,” was his response, which she thought didn’t really qualify as a proper answer.

“And you have a name?”

“I told you that I’m occasionally a formless collection of energy and you’re worried about my name?”

“If a formless collection of energy plans to share my bed, I’d like to know its name. It’s the minimum requirement for entry.”

There was another pause. The annoying thing about an unseen companion, she realized, was that you could only judge them by the words they spoke and the times they didn’t. It made her wish she could see his face, at least a little. Maybe just an outline in the moonlight. But he was like a dark void on the other side of the bed, an almost glaring  _ nothingness. _

Finally, he cleared his throat. “I’m Bellamy.”

“Nice to meet you, Bellamy,” she said, rolling over onto her side again. “I’m Clarke. And I’m going to sleep now. Don’t kill me before sunrise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Review are greatly appreciated :) 
> 
> Chapter 3 should be out shortly.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, she neither saw nor heard Bellamy, but she climbed carefully out of bed just the same. If he was there, he wasn’t in the form of a person, so she really couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t still asleep next to her.

She was lucky that her nightmare didn’t leave her crying in the night. Instead it was the composed, dignified sort of terror that people probably liked in their traumatized leaders. It wouldn’t do to know you were following a person who never slept peacefully through the night.

She spent her day in the woods, nominally hunting but really just taking the time to admire the splendor. The trees were in their full autumnal glory, the vibrant colors almost overwhelming. The reds were warm, like the crisp apples she’d sometimes find outfitting their branches, or the lipstick worn by a character in a pre-bomb film she’d seen once. The yellow leaves were golden like sundrops — there were no more sunflowers for the season, but the foliage made up for their lack. And the orange leaves, well… they were her favorite, although she didn’t really know why. Something about their rusty, burnt appearance made her smile. They were the color of the blazing sunsets that painted the sky like fire.

Sometimes, idly, she wondered if coming to earth was their biggest mistake. Life on the Ark was hard, especially for those from the poorer stations. She was spared the worst of the rationing, but everyone on the Ark learned to be as protective as possible of the limited resources they had. Every shirt was mended, every piece of paper accounted for. There could be no fancifulness with so little available to them. The Ark survived on practicality.

And the ground did too, with just as much death to show for it. On the Ark, people died when they didn’t adhere to rules, or when they couldn’t be saved with the rationed amount of medicine deemed appropriate for them. It wasn’t fair, and it certainly wasn’t right, but they were limited in their options. On the ground, people’s deaths were far bloodier — there was always some force to be fighting against. You killed for your food, and you killed for your lands, and you killed for your people. And that maybe wasn’t right either.

So she couldn’t help but wonder if coming had been the right decision, even though there was hardly a choice to be made at all. The Ark had been dying a slow, oxygen-deprived death. But at least if she’d died in space like her father, or during the landing process like her mother, she might not have known the horrors of the only place they’d ever longed to be. She would’ve died free from the disillusionment that followed their return.

She also never would’ve seen autumn, never would’ve experienced the cool morning air, refreshing and biting as it filled her lungs. There were so many things wrong with earth, so much that she would be forced to carry with her forever. But if she hadn’t come, she would’ve missed out on standing in a warm patch of sunlight, or crunching leaves beneath her boots, or eating berries. And she thought that the little trivialities of her day might be something to envy.

Clarke didn’t actually catch anything that day, but she didn’t mind much. She’d managed a few rabbits and squirrels over the last few days, and she wasn’t desperate yet. Hopefully soon she’d kill a deer so she could start preserving meat for the winter, but snow didn’t seem to be an imminent threat at the moment. 

When she returned to the cabin that evening, there were more berries set out which she assumed were meant for her. If she needed to factor Bellamy into her hunting plans, he hadn’t mentioned it.

She ate the berries while preparing a squirrel for dinner. It felt comfortably domestic to be doing these tasks; cooking was so different on earth, so much more brutal, but there was also a strange sort of peace that accompanied it. And she liked seeing the results of her hard work, even if they weren’t always very good.

After dinner, she retired unceremoniously to bed, leaving the fire for Bellamy to deal with.

He climbed into bed late that night, keeping to the edge. They didn’t speak, but there was never a second where she wasn’t entirely aware of him.

Eventually, she drifted off.

***

The next days followed a similar routine, and sleeping next to a void of a man became normalized, if not exactly normal.

As far as roommates went though, Bellamy was about as good as they got. He never bothered her or got in her way, especially because most of the time he basically didn’t exist. He left her berries and slept in her bed — _his_ bed, really. Otherwise he left her alone.

And she wasn’t sure if it was his presence or the atmosphere that kept her nightmares from overwhelming her, but whatever it was, she was grateful for it. She still had them most nights, but she didn’t wake up in a panic every time like she had in Actium. Some nights she even slept a blissful, dreamless sleep until sunrise. She was always the happiest on the mornings following those sleeps.

She managed to shoot a deer not long after, aiming carefully for the _singular_ head so as not to spoil the meat. That afternoon was bloody and busy, but she had more meat than she reasonably knew what to do with, and it made her hopeful that she wouldn’t die as soon as the weather turned. 

A few days later, about a fortnight since she’d first come to the cabin, she returned in the evening to find something unexpected on the table. Usually, she would find little gifts of berries or, on a particularly good day, some apples or a bit of cooked meat. She wasn’t sure _how_ Bellamy cooked it, seeing as he had no solid form, but she thought it might just be one of the wonders of the universe that she wasn’t meant to question. After all, having a breeze for a bedfellow was already well beyond what science could explain.

But that day, she saw a heap of fur on the table. She went over to inspect it, assuming that, for one reason or another, Bellamy had taken it from among those on the bed and left it in the main room instead of putting it back.

When she picked it up, though, she saw it wasn’t a bedfur at all, but rather one that had been fashioned into a sort of winter coat. It was well crafted too, with little bones for buttons and well-stitched arms. There was even a lovely collar to keep the wearer’s neck warm.

She might’ve assumed it was Bellamy’s, considering he wasn’t immune from the cold, but the fit was decidedly small. Of course, she’d never actually seen Bellamy in whatever form he managed to take after dark, but she felt certain that this coat wouldn’t fit him. There was something about the way the bed shifted when he got into it that made him feel as though he must be tall with broad shoulders. Or that’s how she pictured him in her mind, at least.

She never bothered turning to look at him after the first night, but she remembered something about the way the darkness seemed to bend around a centerpoint. She thought that dark mass must, to some degree at least, be the way the mind interpreted the mystery of Bellamy. And she felt certain that that void wouldn’t fit into this coat.

“Bellamy?” She asked, looking around to see if the air shimmered. Nothing revealed itself, though she couldn’t be certain that he wasn’t just remaining very still.

She felt bad trying the jacket on, aware that all her approximating could be for not and she’d only be stealing his coat if she was wrong. She’d already taken his cabin and his bed, and it seemed an unkindness to keep taking from him now that she knew he was here.

When no response came, though, she eventually decided just to put it on… just to see if it would fit, anyway. She wouldn’t bother growing attached to it, but maybe she could ask him how to make one herself.

When she’d threaded her arms into the sleeves and buttoned it closed, she felt a warmth that filled her to her bones. She’d packed the warmest clothes she’d managed to acquire when she decided to leave Actium, but she didn’t have anything to rival this coat. She brushed her fingers along the garment, reveling in how soft it was. Something like this could only be a labor of love.

Gingerly, she took the coat off and placed it back on the table, folding it with delicate fingers as though she might damage it. She tried not to stare longingly, but she wasn’t sure she was succeeding. It really was exquisite.

She went about her evening routine as normal, but she never stopped thinking about that coat.

***

“Didn’t you like it?” He whispered that night, long after he’d climbed into bed. She’d assumed he’d fallen asleep, although there was never any way to know if he was unconscious or just quiet.

“Like it?” She asked, not sure what he meant. She kept her voice to a whisper too. Unlike the first night when they’d both been confused and a bit overwhelmed, this felt private. Intimate, maybe. The only space she could be certain that they coexisted in was this bed.

“The coat.”

“Of course I liked the coat. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” she answered carefully.

“Will you wear it then?”

She cleared her throat, feeling a small lump forming. “You made it for me?”

“It’s winter. You’ll need a coat,” he said, sidestepping the actual question by stating facts. As though that might somehow hide how thoughtful the entire endeavor was.

“Thank you. It’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned, except for maybe the sword the Commander gave me. I’ll wear it all winter.”

He didn’t say anything in response, and they drifted into a silence. She wondered if it was supposed to be awkward or comfortable. The lack of body cues made it hard to know.

Finally, unwilling to end their conversation and go to sleep after so many silent evenings, she whispered, “I thought maybe it was your coat. I didn’t want to steal it like I stole… well, everything else in the cabin.”

He let out a little huff of air like an almost-laugh. The room felt warmer around her.

“No, it’s not my coat. I have no use for one.”

“But you said you get cold? And I know you go outside, otherwise you wouldn’t be able to bring back berries.”

“I feel the cold, and I prefer to be by the fire when possible. But I don’t really _get_ cold, if that makes sense. And anyways, how would I wear it?”

She let that question sink in for a moment, trying to untangle the web of confusion it produced.

“Do you mean…” she paused, not sure she really wanted to know the answer. “If you can’t wear the coat, does that mean you’re naked?”

The pause this time managed to convey the inherent awkwardness of the moment. 

“Yes?” He said, uncertain of the answer. “And also no. It’s hard to explain. I’m not really anything.”

“Maybe not when you’re some invisible wind during the day. But at night, you take some kind of form, don’t you? I saw it.”

“You didn’t see it,” he said, vehement though not angry.

“I sort of did. I saw _something_ anyway, and that something was the you-est thing my brain can process. And you can touch things in both forms — can make coats and collect fruits and climb into beds. If you can manipulate things, couldn’t you wear clothes?”

“I don’t think so. Anyways, I’m not really naked. I have a human shape now, but I don’t really think it’s the same thing.”

She turned to face him, prepared this time for the way the room immediately darkened, like it was protecting the secret of what he was.

Carefully, as though reaching for an open flame, she moved her hand toward the edge of the darkness. She wondered, just briefly, if he was looking back at her while she attempted this, watching her hand move with the same rapt attention she was giving it.

Finally, her hand stilled against something that was almost skin, but not quite. It was solid to be sure, but it was like smoke had formed itself into a human. Like he could disappear at a moment’s notice, but for now the strange magic gave him a physical being.

She ran her fingers along it gently, mystified entirely by what she felt. She almost forgot that she was touching a person, too consumed by the peculiarity of it all. Her fingers traced aimlessly, trying to get a sense of what exactly made someone into this. She couldn’t think of a single scientific explanation.

Finally, she saw the darkness shift, an arm — or the approximation of an arm, perhaps — moving towards her.

When she felt his hand wrap around her own, she couldn’t stop the quiet gasp that escaped her. His fingers felt the same as the rest of him, but it was strange to feel them moving around hers, tensing the way any person’s fingers would. He had been so still prior to that moment.

He squeezed her hand once, like he was trying to appeal to her sense of amazement, before setting her hand gently on the bed again.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve asked first. But I’m sure you’re aware of how… bewildering this is,” she whispered, staring into the darkness around him.

“It’s okay. Whatever I am, I know it isn’t normal.”

“Whatever you are, you’re the most interesting one I’ve met.”

“I’m the only one of whatever I am that you’ve met,” he said. Then, with some finality, he softly whispered, “Goodnight, Clarke.”

***

She wore her coat every chance she got after that night, which meant she spent almost all of her time in it. She was stockpiling food, and the process kept her outside for a considerable part of the day. 

She didn’t have much in the way of vegetables to eat, but she did find some plants that she recognized from Earth Skills classes. She was thankful that all students were forced to take the class, even though her generation was never expected to see the ground. 

The plants wouldn’t keep of course, but she was glad to have them while they lasted. Winter would be all meat, and that would grow tedious after a time. She wasn’t about to turn her nose up at variety while she still had it.

She also started filling the little pockets sewn into her jacket with odds and ends she found in the woods. Sometimes she’d see a particularly interesting looking stone or piece of old, weathered glass. Once, she found a button, a real button as opposed to the bones that held her coat closed. This button was clearly very old, chipped on one rounded edge and faded into an almost greyish purple. But it was something that had survived on the earth, probably from before the bombs. And while buttons weren’t that special on the Ark, even if they had to be carefully maintained and reused like everything else, she felt like this button was something more interesting than any she’d previously worn.

Her pockets became a veritable collection of her favorite parts of the ground. She even kept a particularly lovely golden-orange leaf, though that couldn’t remain in her pocket lest it crunch and crumble into decay.

In the evenings, Bellamy continued to say goodnight to her, but they didn’t really converse again. Often she wanted to, curious about who and what exactly he was, but she felt like it might be invasive to ask, so the beginnings of conversation always got stuck in her throat. Their silence felt fragile — a delicate soap bubble that she must not touch for fear that it would immediately burst.

But she always wore the coat. And though she couldn’t see it, she liked to imagine that it made him smile.

***

The evenings started getting darker earlier, and she spent the most time she could outside, knowing things would only get worse soon. She learned to fish at the lake, enjoying the time spent so near all the water. Nothing in the universe quite compared to the simple pleasure of being fully submerged, and while she wasn’t keen to try so late in the season, just being near water made her smile. Every pain that earth had given her was matched by something magnificent. It was hard not to be at least a little enchanted by it all.

Life on the Ark hadn’t left her with a lot of belief in any concrete afterlife, but if one existed, she hoped it had a lake.

The first month had passed so quickly, and despite the eccentricities of the cabin, she’d settled in. She never forgot the terrible things she’d done, and the nightmares still plagued her, but the upside to living with a sort-of ghost was that often his existence took center stage in her thoughts.

One night, as twilight was settling in over the hills, and the sky had turned into the lilac color that preceded the darkness, she arrived home to see a feast warm and ready on the table.

A nice cut of what she thought was venison sat in the center, covered in different herbs and filling the whole room in the most glorious aroma. There were side dishes, too — a bowl of cooked greens and a second of some type of nut, both of which surprised her. She’d been doing searches around the cabin for weeks now, looking for other food sources, and she’d never seen anything like what currently graced the table.

“Bellamy?” She asked, knowing he must be around somewhere. Really, it didn’t make sense that he would just disappear after making something so grandiose. “Bellamy, you can’t let me eat this alone. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”

Still there was no response, but she thought she heard a creak in the floorboards, and her eyes flew towards where the sound had come from. 

“Bellamy, please. I know we never— never talk in the daytime. But I have to assume that if a sentient wind can cook a meal, it can probably talk too. And there’s really no point in hiding when I know you’re here.”

She heard a sigh. “You should eat while everything’s still warm, Clarke.”

“We can eat together.”

“I can’t really eat like this,” he said as though it was obvious.

“What do you mean? You can cook a whole meal, so I don’t see why you can’t eat it.”

“There’s not a lot of logic to magic. That’s basically rule number one. But the closest explanation I can think of is…” he paused. “Well, I can manipulate things in this form.” Without warning, the bowl of greens lifted itself several inches off the table, and she gasped. Not that it was that shocking really. He’d been bringing her gifts in the daytime almost since the moment she’d arrived. But she’d never actually interacted with him in the day, so whatever abilities he possessed had never been quite so apparent. 

He continued, “I can pick fruits, and sew, and cook. But I’m also not really complete, I guess. For lack of a better explanation anyway. If I ate, where would the food go? Would you just watch it disappear into thin air?”

“But you need to eat, don’t you? You said you were kind of human. I have to assume that means you need some kind of sustenance.”

“I eat. Just… not when you’re around.”

She didn’t really understand what difference her presence made in the equation. In the daytime, he was a collection of invisible energy that was basically a glorified gust of wind. In the nighttime, he became a solid black mass which darkened a room completely if she tried to look too closely. As far as she was aware, those were his only two states.

(Which was weird, of course, since most people didn’t have more than one state of being, and since that state was usually _solid, fleshy, visible human._ But she was slowly growing accustomed to whatever science or magic had made him this way.)

“Well, you made this meal, so you should get to eat it,” she said, feeling particularly stubborn this evening. She marched into the bedroom, stole a few of the thickest furs from the bed, and brought them into the main room. Hanging a fur over each window, the room gradually darkened until only the firelight remained.

“I don’t know how you slip between forms. But the room is dark now, and if I keep my back to you, we can eat in the firelight, which will be more than enough to see by. So make yourself solid already and stop trying to be a martyr.”

When it was all said and done, they did eat together that evening, backs pressed against each other’s comfortably. She felt warm and full as she sat near the fire and filled herself with the feast he’d made for them.

They spoke of innocuous things, like her love for the lake and the beauty of the season. He seemed to like hearing about her fondness for the cabin and its surrounding woods.

She reached back, placing her hand on top of his where it had been resting on the worn wooden floor. He didn't pull away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the very lovely comments I've received so far on this story. I am committed to getting back to you all, though sometimes it takes me a while to do so!
> 
> Hopefully you enjoyed this update. I write this story with my various pumpkin and cinnamon scented candles lit on my desk, a youtube video of a crackling fire playing, and the more calming songs from the Game of Thrones score lulling in the background. I hope that, at least to a small degree, I've brought the feelings of autumn to you in a similar way.
> 
> Next chapter we will finally learn why Bellamy is the way that he is :)
> 
> Also, lastly, if you are a fan of this story of my other WIP Skate the Line, you can nominate either for a Bellarke Fic Writer Award, which I would be really chuffed about. I am also eligible for 'Emerging Writer' which is for authors who started within the last year (or the last four months in my case!). You can do all your nominating of the many amazing stories in this fandom [here](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com/post/627834873700352000/nominations-are-open).


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to discover what exactly Bellamy is!

After finishing their meal, they very carefully retreated towards the bed, making sure that Clarke never looked back so that they wouldn’t douse the fire. When they were comfortably positioned, she finally asked what she’d been putting off for so many nights.

“Will you please tell me more about—” keeping her eyes firmly on the ceiling, she gestured aimlessly, “—you know, your whole thing. It hasn’t started making any more sense, and now I have a whole store of questions built up.”

The room remained silent for a significant amount of time, and she wondered if asking had ruined the easy camaraderie they’d formed over the evening.

“It’s a long story,” was his quiet response.

“I have time.”

“You really want to know?”

“I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t really want to know. It’s… honestly, this is the strangest thing that I’ve ever come across, and my life has been shockingly busy of late, so those aren’t empty words.” Then, in a more serious tone, she added, “But also, the whole mystery aside, I’d like to know you. I don’t know anything except your name and that you are only sort of human. I have to assume there’s more to you than that.”

“Okay,” he said, voice gruff. Surprised, maybe, by her candor. Or her interest. “I’ve never told this story to anyone before. Everyone who knows it was there when it all happened.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you really don’t want to. But I’d like to know, and I’m a good listener.”

“I can try. You know the stories of Hodneswor?”

“No.”

“Oh,” he said, sounding genuinely surprised, like he’d been asking more as a formality or a lead-in to the story. “Don’t you know the gods?”

“I’ve heard a little of your gods, but I don’t really know anything about them. I didn’t have a lot of time to learn.”

“Time to learn? What do you mean? How far away have you travelled from?”

She laughed to herself, realizing that she’d never actually mentioned where she was from. Ever since coming to earth, grounders and mountainmen had just known instinctively that she and her people were outsiders, but they were also more conspicuous as a group travelling around in the aftermath of a very obvious spaceship crashing into the planet.

“I’ve travelled a considerably long way,” she said sardonically. “I wasn’t born on earth at all. I spent most of my life on a space station. We only crash landed here this spring. And a lot has happened since.”

“Space?” He asked, his voice breathless in an awed kind of way. “You lived in the stars?”

“Yes… sort of.” She told him more about the Ark, answering his string of questions about what it was like to see the earth from above and what the sun was like up close and if there were things she missed about the sky. Every answer only seemed to make him more enraptured, hanging off of her every word.

“I would love to live in the sky,” he sighed dreamily.

“It’s nicer in theory than in practice. Food is scarce and bland. There are no lakes or trees or deer. We spent all our time preparing for the day that a future generation could return to the ground.”

“But you returned instead.”

“Yes, but that was only a fluke. We would’ve run out of breathable air if we’d stayed. It was a calculated risk to leave, knowing that the radiation levels down here might kill us, but we didn’t have another option. We were really surprised to see that other humans survived the apocalypse.”

“I can imagine,” he said slowly, like he was actually picturing all of this in his head, putting himself in her position to understand how foreign it all was.

“And anyways, you’ve managed to distract me completely from my original task, which was to learn more about you. All we’ve done so far is talk about me.”

“But Clarke,” he said emphatically, “you lived in _space.”_

“And you’re a ghost.”

“Okay, I swear I’ll tell you, but I want to hear more about space later.”

“Deal.”

“There’s going to be a lot of backstory about the gods for any of this to make sense.”

“That’s fine. I’m listening.”

He sighed, like the idea of telling the story exhausted him. He didn’t try to back out of it though, so she assumed he was still okay to continue.

“You know of the Commanders?”

“A little. They’re your leaders, right? Octavia was the Commander.”

“Octavia,” he said, pausing on the name. Then, almost like he was shaking himself out of it, he said, “Yes, they’re our leaders. And supposedly they derive power from divinity, chosen in battle by the gods themselves. I don’t know about other places — we don’t have a lot of contact with people outside of the area we trade in — but we follow three gods: Hodneswor, Chojheda, and Getnesheda. They’re known collectively as Thri Hayon, which just means the three divine ones.”

“Hodneswor was the god you asked about earlier?” She asked, trying to remember.

“Yes.”

“And what are they all gods of?”

“Hodneswor is the god of love and war — the two most passionate parts of life. Sometimes the two things are at odds, and sometimes they’re directly linked. He — the gods don’t have a consistent gender, but Hodneswor is more often spoken of in male terms — is meant to be angry and wrathful, but also loving in the right moments. The best and worst of humanity.”

“Hodneswor,” she repeated, testing the name on her lips. “Does it literally just mean ‘love and war’?”

He laughed brightly. “Yeah. We aren’t very creative. Easiest to just call the gods exactly what they are. Technically his name is Hodnesworheda, as the Commander of Love and War, but it’s too long to say all the time, so we shorten it.”

“Very pragmatic of you,” she said, taking this all in. “And the other two gods?”

“Chojheda,” he said slowly, letting her repeat it after him. “Chojheda is the goddess of the hunt and harvest. Her name literally translates to Commander of Eating. Every farmer and hunter prays to her regularly, and we have a feast in her honor in the autumn and the spring.”

“Is that what tonight’s feast was?”

“Sort of. It wasn’t specifically dedicated to her, but it’s what I might normally make in that instance. I don’t follow practices as closely when I’m by myself.”

“And the last one? Get-something?”

“Getnesheda,” he said patiently.

“Getnesheda.”

“Exactly. Getnesheda is the goddess of trade, healing, and information. Her name means Commander of Knowledge.”

“I suppose I’d mostly pray to her then, if I was inclined. I’m a healer — or at least I was training to be one on the Ark. I’m not sure anything I’ve done on earth really qualifies as _healing.”_

“Healers are very important in our societies. You would do very well as one if you decided to go back to Tondisi.”

“Tondisi?” She asked. “I’ve never been to that place.”

“Didn’t you come from Octavia’s settlement?”

“Yeah, but everyone there called it Actium.”

“Actium,” he said, like the name surprised him, but in a good way. “It was always called Tondisi before, but I guess she changed the name.”

“Are you from there? Are you— wait! Octavia said her brother used to live in this cabin. Is that—”

“I’ll explain everything, I swear. All of this is connected in some way or another.”

She wanted him to tell her now, but she didn’t want to rush him even though she thought these were more pertinent questions than anything else. If she pushed too hard, he might give up explaining entirely.

“Okay, continue.”

“So, Hodneswor, Chojheda, and Getnesheda form the Thri Hayon, and we worship them, at least somewhat. There are some who believe more faithfully than others.”

“Do you believe in them?”

“Yes,” he said, sounding completely certain. “And also no.”

“That is your answer to almost everything.”

“Do _you_ believe in the gods?”

“The Thri Hayon?”

“Yes.”

“Um, well… I just learned about them,” she said, trying to be diplomatic. “So probably not just this minute.”

“Do you believe in other gods?”

“No, I guess not. It wasn’t really something I was brought up with. The main focus on the Ark was worship of the ground, if that makes sense. Not really as a deity, but still in a quasi-religious fashion. We saw earth as our home, and allowing our successors to return was the most important thing to our society.”

“So you believe in science, I assume.”

“Yeah, I guess so. More than anything else.”

“But you’ve lived with a ghost for a month now. Can science explain me?”

“Not as far as I know. That’s not to say it couldn’t though.”

“That’s fair. And that’s why I said that I believe, and also that I don’t.”

“You’ve lost me.”

“I believe in something, because something made me like this.”

“And you think it was the gods?”

“So I’ve been told. According to my mother, she was seduced one evening in the woods by the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. There was a glow to him that was unlike any human, and she knew in that moment that he had to be a god.”

“Your father is a god?”

“Supposedly. She said he was Hodneswor, though he never gave her a name. But nine months later she had me, and it became easier to understand that whatever she’d been with wasn’t entirely human.”

“Because you’re a ghost?”

“No. I’m not really a ghost at all, not like how you’re thinking. That part of the story doesn’t happen until later. Back then, I was as visible as anyone else.”

“But how—”

He cut her off. “Shhh. I’ll get there eventually. But that’s why I believe in the gods. It would be hard not to, knowing what I am. On the other hand, I also can’t be sure that Hodneswor really _was_ Hodneswor. Maybe it was some other, older god. Maybe all gods throughout time have been part of the same essence, and we’ve just been consistently reimagining and renaming them into new beings. Or maybe there really is some scientific answer, and I’m the product of a man who was exposed to too much radiation or something. I’m not sure how that would account for the magic, but I can’t discount the possibility. But what I know for certain is that I don’t have all the information, so it would probably be foolish to say I don’t believe in the gods when they’ve answered my prayers before.”

“They have?”

“Yes, once.”

“So you were born, and you were a normal person.”

He laughed. “No, I was never a normal person. I did have humanlike features though, which is different to how things are now. People could see me. They just wished they couldn’t.”

She made a face. “Is this where you tell me that you’re really very ugly? Because I don’t think anyone could be so ugly that they have to turn themself into a void person.”

“No. Well, maybe. I’m not trying to equivocate on this one — I just actually don’t know.”

“Like, you don’t have a gage for standards of beauty, or…”

“I’ve never seen myself.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “Oh.”

“Why haven’t you?”

“There’s something wrong with me. People used to say I was cursed, and that’s really the only explanation that makes sense.”

“Cursed how?”

“When I was born, my mother had a midwife present. As soon as the woman saw my face in full, she immediately fell to the ground. My mother had to finish delivering me on her own, having no idea why her midwife had suddenly passed out during the labor. Only she hadn’t passed out. She was dead.”

“Dead?” She asked, confused.

“Like I said, I was cursed. My mother could look at me, and I’m not sure why. Perhaps because I was half her as well. Or perhaps because she had looked upon my father and survived. But she was the only person who could look at me. It only took the first few people dying for them to realize that there was something wrong with me. The people of Tondisi wanted to have me killed as a sacrifice to the gods, because clearly whatever I was wasn’t meant for the earth, but my mother told them that it would be an insult to Hodneswor to kill his infant son. They had only just recently finished a bloody war with a neighboring clan, and too many people feared that Hodneswor would force them into another if they displeased him. I was spared, but the only person I ever saw was my mother.”

“What about Octavia? Is she really— is she your sister?”

“Yes. I don’t actually know much of how it happened — my mother never brought men home for obvious reasons, so she couldn’t marry. But when I was a few years old, she became pregnant with Octavia. She even let me name her, although I was never to let the baby see me for fear that I would kill her.”

“How did you grow up with her then?”

“I didn’t in a lot of the ways that matter most. We couldn’t really play together. Sometimes I’d sit behind my curtain and tell her stories or read to her. But she couldn’t ever get too close to me. It was harder to keep children from accidentally looking — they don’t have the same impulse control. I had to sleep under the floor to make sure she never woke up and saw me.”

“Fuck,” Clarke said, realizing how horrible of a life that must have been.

“We never got to be very close as siblings. Octavia could go outside and make friends. She learned to ride horses and fight and lead people. All I could do was hide in the house if I didn’t want to kill our entire village.”

“So why did you leave?”

“My mother died one summer when a disease swept through Tondisi, and that was really hard for me to deal with. She was the only person who could look at me as we had a conversation. She was afraid of the things I was capable of, but she was never afraid of _me,_ simply because she never had to worry that I’d kill her. Not having her around… it made me realize how incredibly alone I was. I felt like I was drowning.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” he said, brushing it off. “By that point Octavia was mostly grown up, serving as the Second to our Commander. We still weren’t very close, and I think she felt uncomfortable living with me, knowing I was always behind a curtain or under the floor, lurking like a shadow. We still talked sometimes, and there were good moments too. But it was different, and it was hard.”

“So you left?”

“I didn’t plan to leave. Everything fell apart a few months later. O was seeing a boy at the time — Atom, I think. And even though everyone knew about me and knew to stay clear of our cabin, he was so excited to see her that he forgot. Walked right in when I wasn’t expecting anyone to be around. He fell down dead before the door was even fully open, and there was nothing I could do about it. I couldn’t even go to him or try to tell anyone, because the door was still wide open. I had to hide under the floor so that no one else would see me. Octavia returned shortly after and found her intended dead on the threshold of our house. And that’s when she told me to leave and never come back.”

He paused, clearly upset at having to tell this story. The story of how — at least in his eyes — he killed someone and ruined his sister’s life.

She looked over at him deliberately, watching as the firelight immediately disappeared. Then, without a second of hesitation, she reached out her hand until she felt his face. She placed her palm carefully on his cheek.

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.”

“It _wasn’t,_ Bellamy. I don’t know why you were born like that, but you spent your whole life isolated in an attempt to protect people. There was nothing else you could do.”

“That’s not true. I could’ve disappeared as soon as I was old enough to leave. I could’ve gone into the woods where no one would ever be in danger.”

“That was your home. It was all you’d ever known. You’d never even left the house before.”

His hand moved to latch onto her wrist like a lifeline. “I could’ve done more,” he said with finality.

She sighed, not wanting to keep up a fruitless argument all night. One day he would believe her about this, but she doubted there was anything she could say that would be persuasive enough to convince him in one conversation.

“So you left Tondisi?”

“Yes. That night, when the moon went behind the clouds and I felt certain no one would accidentally see me, I left. I started walking with no direction in mind. I’d… I’d never wished that I was dead more than in those first days.”

She brushed her thumb along his cheek idly. Her eyes were wide as she stared into the nothingness of his person. She could see the vague shape of him — a head, a torso, two arms, and two legs. They were darker than the surrounding darkness, like a black hole swallowing all the light. She should’ve pulled away, but she found herself shifting closer, being tugged in by his gravity along with everything else.

He continued. “Eventually I found this cabin. I have no idea who built it, but it had been in disrepair for a long time when I arrived. I decided I’d stay here, far away from everyone I could hurt. But I knew that it didn’t mean no one would ever stumble upon me.” He squeezed her wrist lightly. “So I prayed to my father, to the Thri Hayon, to any god in the universe that might be inclined to listen. I never wanted to hurt anyone again, and I could only do that if no one could see me. And the gods granted my wish.”

“So they made you this?”

“Yes. I’m not sure why they chose this form — different in the day and the night. I don’t want to question their gift. It’s the only reason you aren’t dead already.”

She considered that for the first time since he started the story, realizing how close she could’ve come to death. If he hadn’t asked the gods for something to counteract the curse, she would’ve stumbled into the cabin and unknowingly killed herself. And he would’ve blamed himself for it, undoubtedly. A strange girl in the wrong place.

“Are you stuck like this, then? Could you go back to being visible if you wanted?”

“Yes, if I wanted to. It was helpful at first. I was good at all the indoor skills like sewing and weaving and making baskets. I could even cook if I was careful to keep the sheet up so Octavia couldn’t see into the kitchen. But I’d never spent any time outside, so I couldn’t hunt like people normally do. I’d never had any weapons training.”

“So you killed the animals by having them look at you?”

“Yes. I’m not sure if it’s really fair — at least in hunting there’s a chance they’ll get away. But it was also less painful. No blood, instant death. No time to panic because they never see it coming. I can hunt the normal way now after years out here alone, but sometimes being able to kill quickly seems more merciful. I haven’t done it since you’ve arrived though. If I’m not completely careful, I could kill you by mistake. No reason to tempt fate.”

“Thanks,” she said with a laugh. “At least I know we won’t starve this winter. So am I the first person you’ve seen since you left?”

“Almost. Octavia spent some time searching for me a few years ago. I think she felt bad, or maybe not. I’m not sure why she came. It couldn’t have been easy to find me, and once she did we only spoke briefly. She told me about Anya’s death and meeting Lincoln.”

“Anya?”

“She was the old Commander. O was her Second. When she died, there was a small but chaotic civil war amongst the people of Tondisi — Anya had a daughter who thought she should take power. But by rights, Octavia had the stronger claim, having served under Anya for years. Apparently things were pretty violent for a while, but Octavia won, obviously.”

“I wonder if that’s when she changed the name to Actium.”

“I’m not sure; she never mentioned it then. I didn’t even realize the name had changed.”

“You sounded surprised by the name earlier. Do you recognize it?”

“Yes, I—” he stopped, swallowing heavily. “I named Octavia after someone from Roman history. The sister of Emperor Augustus. I always liked him.”

“I don’t know anything about Augustus. What’s his connection to Actium?”

“The Romans were undergoing a civil war in the aftermath of their last leader’s assassination. Two different men were trying to take control — Augustus and Mark Antony. The last battle of the war was called the Battle of Actium. I told her these stories as a kid. She must’ve thought it a fitting new name coming out of a civil war. A fresh start for the village.”

“She named the village after something that reminded her of you,” she said, stating what she thought was the obvious.

“No, I don’t think that’s why. She must’ve just liked the symbolism. A civil war won; a new leader at the helm.” His voice betrayed how much he would like to think that she _did_ choose the name to honor him.

“You know, she told me to come here.”

“She did?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure if she expected that you’d still be here, and she didn’t actually give me any warning about what I’d find if you were. But she knew I needed to leave, and this was the place she recommended.”

“She probably thought I’d left. She sent scouts not that long ago to check up on me. But since I don’t even have to hide to be unnoticeable, they never found me. She probably assumed I’d gone elsewhere.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, knowing now how sad the story of his relationship with his sister was. Instead, she moved her hand down to rest on the shoulder furthest from her, almost like she was hugging herself to him, although she was careful to keep space between the front of her body and the side of his. She was closer than she’d ever been to him in the bed, but she didn’t dare get closer. There were only so many of his boundaries that she was willing to cross in one night.

“I’m sorry. About all of it. You really don’t deserve any of what’s happened to you.”

“Most people don’t. I’m not special in that regard.”

“Still.”

“Still,” he agreed. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. There’s a lot that I’d like to know about you.”

“Okay.”

“Goodnight, Clarke.”

“Goodnight, Bellamy. Thank you for trusting me.”

She fell asleep on her side facing him, separated by a little gulf of space, her hand still resting on his shoulder.

In the morning, the bed beside her was empty, her hand sitting atop the quilt where he’d previously been.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started imagining this story, this was the part that I focused on first. Why would Bellamy be a faceless man hiding away from everyone he ever knew? What could I do in creating a new grounder mythology to help set this story in motion? It was an incredibly fun opportunity to develop something that went in a completely different direction than the show.
> 
> I also liked getting to flip the script on major aspects of canon, like Bellamy being the boy under the floor instead of Octavia. I felt like I had a lot of space to play around and get this to be exactly what I wanted.
> 
> Special thanks to The Unofficial Trigedasleng Dictionary for helping me to name the gods. I have used a mixture of canon and non-canon words to do this, and I really appreciate that they have tried to fill in the gaps of the show to add words that don't exist yet in canon so I wasn't limited in scope. There will be a few more instances of Trigedasleng in the story, and The Unofficial Trigedasleng Dictionary will always be my point of call.
> 
> Don't forget to nominate all your favorite fics for the [Bellarke Fic Writer Awards](https://bellarkeficawards.tumblr.com/post/627834873700352000/nominations-are-open)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So…
> 
> I’m not really sure what to say. I haven’t been watching season 7 because it was so lackluster, choosing instead to keep up through Twitter. But obviously after what happened in episode 13, I think most of us will agree that the things that made the show so special are officially dead, and there is no coming back from that.
> 
> I understand if any of you who have been following along with this story no longer wish to finish it. I get why people might leave the Bellarke fandom for good. I certainly can’t picture myself ever liking show!Bellarke again after this.
> 
> But I am going to keep writing this story. This, to me, was always meant to be an intimate story about two people coming together and finding redemption. Sure, there are some silly mythological things in there too, because that’s the nature of the plot they’re in, but the heart of it is Clarke and Bellamy learning to forgive themselves and love each other.
> 
> They’ll never get that in the show, at least not the way they should’ve. I want them to have it here.
> 
> So if you do have to leave, I want to say thank you sincerely for reading. I’m glad I had the chance to interact with a fair few of you in the comments. May your next fandom be less chaotic than this one.
> 
> If you need to take some time away to process before returning to fanfiction, please don’t rush yourself. It’s difficult to lose the characters we love, especially in such cruel ways. I understand if you need to be in a better headspace before trying to engage with fic again. This story will always be here when you return.
> 
> And if you’re already prepared to immerse yourself in something that will have a tender, loving ending, then I’m glad to still have you along for the ride. This story, more than anything else, feels like my love letter to these characters. I hope in some small way that it can be a comfort to you, too.
> 
> I appreciate you all so much as readers. This isn’t how I saw the show ending after so many years as a fan, but at least I’ve had the chance to share some truly lovely moments with you.
> 
> Andromeda Bennet

It started to snow the day after Bellamy told her his story. She rushed outside as soon as she saw the puffy white flakes falling from the sky, face turned up to the clouds, letting the snow caress her cheeks before each crystal melted away. The ones that fell onto her jacket didn’t disappear as quickly, so she raised her arms to look at them, wanting to appreciate each one for a least a few moments.

“Bellamy!” She called, not knowing where he’d gone off to for the morning. “Bellamy, it’s snowing!”

“I know,” came his voice from a ripple in the air to her left. “It’s too early in the season to stick to the ground though. It might be a while before we get snow piles.”

“I’ve never seen snow,” she said with awe in her voice. “I didn’t really know how to imagine what it would be like.”

“It’s cold, mostly.” Then, as though seeing her excitement and not wanting to hamper it, he added, “But it’s really beautiful. At least for a little while. You’ll probably get tired of it after a few months though — just a warning.”

She laughed. “I’ll keep that in mind. I don’t think I could get tired of it today though.”

“Then don’t. There’s nothing pressing for you to do today. We have plenty of food stored away for the winter, and I’ve been living here long enough to know how to get more when we’re running low. Take today off. I’ll cook.”

She spent the day laying on a fur that she’d spread out over the cold, dying grass. Her eyes roved around the sky, watching as little puffs of white continued to fall. Bellamy was right — they were melting as soon as they touched the ground rather than building up. The impractical part of her brain wished they would so that she could make a snow angel the way she’d heard people had done in stories from before the bombs. But of course, there was no advantage to having an early and long winter. They would want to hold on to autumn for as long as possible.

Sometimes she felt certain that Bellamy had come outside again to sit with her, but he kept fairly quiet for most of the day, so she couldn’t be sure. Inside, Clarke could smell a soup bubbling away over the fire, and she was excited for the cosy comfort that supper would provide.

Nothing about life at the cabin was normal, but everything felt simple. Cold autumn days met with warm dinners and warmer beds. The thought made her smile absently.

Eventually, Bellamy reached out to touch her cheek. She might not have even realized he had done it if she wasn’t so keyed in to where he could be at any given moment. The caress, gentle along the apple of her cheek, felt more like the memory of a touch than anything solid. It was probably the effect of being in his daytime state of invisibility. _A particularly cognizant breeze,_ he’d said. 

“Clarke? Dinner is ready if you want to come in. You must be cold.”

“I’m not very cold,” she said. She might’ve asked to stay outside and eat where she could see the snow falling, but then they wouldn’t have been able to eat together. If he could only eat in a dark room with the windows covered, then she would too. “But let’s go in anyway. I’ll serve tonight if you hang the furs.”

“Deal.”

***

“Will you tell me more about the sky?” He asked that night when they were in bed again.

“Of course. What do you want to know?”

His early questions were innocent enough — he wanted to know if she’d ever been outside the space station while she lived there _(no, but mechanics and engineers took spacewalks routinely),_ what people ate in space _(whatever the workers in Farm Station could safely grow, which in bad months meant an algae-heavy diet),_ and what was her favorite thing to do in space _(draw, if she had paper, or watch sports with her dad)._

The questions became more difficult as they went though. It wasn’t intentional on Bellamy’s part; he just didn’t know which lines of inquiry would lead to upsetting memories.

“Why did you decide to come back? You said something last night about the air supply?”

She nodded at the ceiling where she’d been keeping her eyes focused. “Yeah. My dad was the lead engineer on the Ark, and he found out that the air supply wasn’t enough to sustain us. He wanted to tell everyone, but…”

She paused to collect herself. When she’d taken a few deep breaths, Bellamy quietly asked, “But…?”

“But the Chancellor — our version of a Commander — didn’t want him to, and the council agreed. When he tried to get the message out anyway, they killed him.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, voice filled with sympathetic sorrow.

“On the Ark, any adult who commits a crime gets sent out of an airlock and into space. You die instantly. It’s called being floated. That’s what they did to him. My mother was a member of the council, and she didn’t stop them.”

She felt Bellamy’s hand slide into her own, his fingers interlocking with hers as a gesture of comfort.

“They must’ve told people eventually though, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t all be here now.”

“Yeah, they realized that floating their lead engineer when the air filtration system wasn’t working meant that they’d basically doomed us all to die.” She laughed, but it was sardonic and sharp. “There was an initial plan to send children who had committed crimes down to the ground to see if it was survivable — delinquent children were seen as expendable enough if something went wrong. But by the time they were ready to put that plan in motion, they realized that it wouldn’t be enough. The Ark was dying too rapidly, and they couldn’t waste time waiting days or weeks to monitor an exploratory mission. So they told everyone and brought the whole Ark down within the day.”

“And everyone… made it? It must be dangerous to fall from space.”

“A lot of us made it, but not everyone. One of the stations broke off and went missing — I still have no idea if they survived. And the council members came down on a separate dropship which crashed and exploded. I’m not sure why they thought it would be a good idea to all travel down together, but it wiped out our leadership in an instant.”

“And your mother — was she…?”

She swallowed hard. “Yeah. She was with them. Dead on arrival.”

He squeezed her hand, not knowing what else could be said. She was glad he didn’t bother with useless platitudes. They hardly had a place in the turmoil of the last few months of her life.

“It got worse from there. We had to leave the crash site almost as soon as we’d landed because we were in hostile territory. It was a complete shock — we’d always thought earth was an empty planet. We weren’t even sure that there would be animal life, so seeing humans was surprising. There were plenty of adults with us, so they really should’ve taken the lead, but in all the chaos I ended up more or less at the helm. The guards trusted me because my mom was a councilwoman, and the people from the poorer parts of the Ark trusted me because I acted almost nothing like someone on the council should. People needed someone to make decisions, so I made them.”

“And you led them to Octavia?”

“It was an accident that we found her, and to be fair her scouting party almost tried to attack us before they realized just how many we numbered. When I explained it to them, they offered to let me meet Octavia. And she was more understanding than we really had any right for her to be, which was good. We’d just lost Wells.”

“Wells?” He asked.

“He was…” She stopped, swallowing the heavy lump in her throat. She didn’t want to cry. “He was my best friend. His father was the Chancellor, but he was a much better man than his dad. And he’d just become an orphan too. We were figuring things out together when a wild animal crept up on him. He’d… he’d wanted to go to the river in the evening to wash up, but I was too tired and made him go alone. When I found him, he was still alive, but his whole body had been torn to shreds. I had to—” she started crying, no longer being able to keep the heavy tears at bay. “I had to kill him. He begged me to do it.”

“Then it sounds like you did what you could. He didn’t die alone, Clarke. Will you be upset if the fire goes out?”

The abrupt shift in conversation confused her just long enough to temporarily halt her tears. “What? No, I—”

Before she could finish stumbling through an answer to a question she didn’t understand, he reached across her body, pulling her far arm over until she rolled onto her side, curling into his chest. The room went dark as usual, and for the first time she felt what it was like to be pressed up against a man with no face or features. 

He was warmer than she expected. It made her realize that, despite some notable discrepancies like his appearance and occasional formlessness, he was still at least nominally human. Blood presumably still pumped through his veins. He still ate and slept. He didn’t like being too far from the fire at night, didn’t want to be cold.

She buried her face in his side, allowing her tears to run themselves dry. His fingers ran softly through her hair.

“The story gets worse.”

“You don’t have to tell it tonight. You don’t have to tell it ever if you don’t want to.”

“The rest of the story… it’s what I’m running from. It’s the reason I left Actium and my people to come live alone in what I’d thought was an abandoned cabin.”

“And it will still be there when you’re ready to talk about it, if that’s what you want. But there’s no rush to do it right now.”

The hand in her hair moved to rest at the base of her skull, massaging it lightly. It was the first time anyone had held her just for the sake of it in a long time. Everything with Finn had been so rushed before she’d realized that Raven, travelling near the back of the group with Sinclair, had been dating him all along. And that put an end to things quickly.

But this — being comforted by someone else’s touch — was something she hadn’t even realized she’d been longing for. She felt starved for his attention. 

As if he could read her mind, the knuckle of his index finger on his other hand started running idly up and down her arm. The slight touch was everything — grounding and tantalizing in a way she’d never experienced before. She felt a shiver run up her spine, and his finger stilled for a second before she pressed her cheek more firmly into his side, prompting him to start up again.

“Will you tell me a story then? Nothing about you and nothing about me. Anything else. It doesn’t even have to be a happy story — at least if it’s someone else’s sorrow I can be thankful that I don’t have their problems.”

“I don’t know that many happy stories, but that’s because the ones I know best are greek myths, and those are almost always depressing.”

“That’s fine. Tell me one of those.”

“Do you know the story of Prometheus?”

“I don’t think so. At least not so well that I can recount any of the details.”

“Okay.” He shifted under her slightly, settling in and wrapping his arm around her more firmly. “So the Greeks believed that, at the beginning of time, there were the gods. First Gaia and Ouranos, the earth and the sky. Their children were the Titans, led by Cronus, the god of time. But, long story short, he’d come to power by overthrowing his own father, and he feared the same would happen to him. So every time his wife gave birth to a child, he would eat it.”

“He ate them?” She asked, surprised. Not that there was really any reason to be — the one thing she did remember about greek mythology was that it was all depressing and absurd.

“Yeah. Only, they were gods too, so they didn’t actually die or get digested. They just grew into the semi-competent adult versions of gods while still living in their father’s stomach. He did this with five kids: Poseidon, Hades, Hera, Demeter, and Hestia.”

“Semi-competent?”

“I probably shouldn’t say this since I’m a potential near-relation of a god, but they’re all basically disasters. Semi-competent is a stretch, but I was trying to be polite.”

She huffs a laugh, and the puff of breath tickles his skin.

“But Cronus’s wife Rhea decided to protect the sixth child. Zeus was sent away and Cronus was fed a rock, which apparently wasn’t all that different to him. When Zeus was older, he returned and tricked his father into drinking a potion that made him throw up, dislodging all five of his full-sized kids. And then the kids banded together against their father for fairly obvious reasons — and when they defeated him, he was cast into the darkest pit of the Underworld.”

“Sounds fair. And how does Prometheus come into all of this?”

“Well, the Titans and their children the Olympians ruled during a time called the Golden Age. Humans lived in a state of nature and complete ignorance, but they were supposedly unbothered by this because the earth provided for them. The gods gave them the things required to meet their needs, so it must’ve meant that they were happy.”

“Sounds like the gods were projecting.”

“Yeah, I doubt people would’ve been nearly as happy as the gods claimed they were. They had no real knowledge, barely more than animals. Then again, they didn’t know much about the evils of the world either, so maybe there’s something to be said for living in enforced ignorance. But either way, Prometheus, a Titan god whose name meant ‘forethought’, wanted to help the humans. He snuck into the home of the gods on Mount Olympus and stole fire, which he then gave to humanity.”

“Actual fire?” She asked.

“Yes. And also no, I guess. He did steal fire, and it would’ve changed the relationship people had with food and shelter. But it was also a metaphor — he brought the people art and science and knowledge. He wanted them to think, to exist outside a state of complete mindlessness.”

“So we like him, then? Sounds like a decent guy.”

“I like him. Zeus didn’t, though, and that’s what mattered. Zeus was angry that he’d stolen from the gods and interrupted the status quo on earth. So he punished Prometheus. He would be chained to a rock, and an eagle would eat his liver. Being a god, his liver would regrow every night. And every day, the eagle would return.”

“This is weirdly making me feel better about my own life. Zeus is a dick.”

He laughed, and she felt the motion under her cheek.

“You can sum up most of greek mythology that way. If Zeus isn’t being the worst at any given moment, it’s one of his siblings or their kids. And there’s a shitty addendum to the story, too.”

“Of course there is. Liver eating is never quite enough punishment.”

“Zeus created a woman named Pandora as a gift for Prometheus’s brother Epimetheus. Of course, Prometheus told him not to accept anything from Zeus, since it was bound to be a trick. But men are stupid and Pandora was very beautiful, so it was a lost cause.”

“Isn’t Pandora the box girl?”

“Yeah. Before she left, Zeus gave her a box — well, technically more like a jar, but the _Pandora’s Box_ thing ended up being catchier. He told her never to open it, but when he’d made her, he’d also given her a strong and innate sense of curiosity.”

“He really just gets worse and worse.”

“And obviously she opened it. Inside were all the evils of the world that I said the people had remained ignorant of in the past. They didn’t have art and culture and learning, but they’d also been missing out on things like war and famine. I still think it would’ve been a poor existence to have none of the beautiful parts of being alive, but the trade-off was accepting the evils as well. The only thing that didn’t leave the jar was hope. People go through all kinds of horrible experiences and manage not to lose hope for a better future. And people can learn to find hope again, if they’ve lost it.”

His fingers, which had stilled in her hair as he told the story, began moving again, brushing delicately up and down along her neck.

“You mean I could find hope again.”

“Anyone could, which means you can too. You came here to run from something, which must mean that you’re hoping that being away will help you. I ran here to escape my past, too. It just makes sense that we could help each other find peace.”

“And what if peace only exists here, in our little bubble of ignorance away from the evils of the world?”

“Then I suppose we decide to stay. And anyhow, it’s not ignorance, just isolation from the evils. But your people are safe — you said you left them in Actium. They’ll be protected there. You’ve done your best for them. There’s no rush to go back until you’ve found hope again.”

“I have hope.” And it wasn’t until she said it out loud that she was certain it was true. Whatever else might happen in her life, she would always know that here, in this moment, curled up in bed around Bellamy’s shadow and far away from the rest of the world, she had hope. For herself, and for him.

It felt like enough.

The darkness shifted again, and what could only be Bellamy’s lips pressed themselves gently against her forehead.

“I’m glad.”

***

That night, still cuddled into Bellamy’s body, she dreamt that the morning light illuminated the bed. Bellamy, who was always gone by the time she arose, was still there, only he wasn’t a breeze, or a shadow, or a man. He was a brown bear, huge and warm and hardly fitting onto the little piece of bed she’d left him. And she was curled into him, her fingers tangling into his soft fur. His eyes were closed, still deep in sleep as he let out the quiet rumbly snores of a wild animal.

It should’ve been alarming, really, to wake up entwined with a bear. She’d never seen one in her time on earth, but she knew they were more than capable of killing a human quickly. Realistically, she should probably be his next meal.

But as he let out a heavy breath, she sank further into his side rather than moving away. He was cosy, and comforting, and _Bellamy._ Whatever else he was, he was always Bellamy first. It had only been a few weeks since she’d come to the cabin, but she was certain of this. She was certain of him.

So she settled herself in, feeling encapsulated by his warmth. Snow drifted down again outside the window, piling up along the ledge. There was no cause to be cold though, even with the fire long dead in the hearth. Maybe today they wouldn’t leave the room at all; the world could keep turning and she could stay right here, completely at peace.

Of course, when she woke up for real, there was no snow and no bear. Bellamy was gone again, her hand resting on the still-warm place that he’d been.

Bellamy obviously wasn’t a bear — he was, if nothing else, decidedly human-sized. But the dream did make her realize that it hardly mattered what he was: a ghost, a shadow, a person, a bear. He was Bellamy always and Bellamy still.

It was more than enough.

Her heart felt lighter that morning than it had in a long time, and the feeling didn’t fade at all throughout the day.

When she climbed back into bed that night with Bellamy beside her, she smiled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention at the end of the last chapter that Clarke's dream (in which Bellamy is a bear) is based on the Norwegian fairytale East of the Sun and West of the Moon. In that, instead of sleeping next to a formless creature like Bellamy or a figure hidden in the dark like Cupid, she sleeps next to an actual bear.

When Bellamy had first discovered Clarke’s pocket collection, he’d taken to the search for little odds and ends with gusto. After all, he’d found many strange things in the woods over the years, although he’d never had a reason to start saving them until now.

So far, he’d found a red hair barrette, an enamel pin of a tiny, faded rainbow flag, two nickels, and a dime. She wasn’t certain how much the change amounted to — they didn’t have numerical values on them — but Bellamy was sure that it was twenty cents.

The dime was her favorite of the things Bellamy had found for her. It was so stupidly tiny and dulled by years of wear. He would’ve really had to be really _looking_ to spot it, which made her heart swell to think about.

He’d also unceremoniously added a seashell to her collection, a pink little thing with a smooth exterior. He said he’d found it when he’d last taken a trip to the beach, only a day’s hike away. According to Bellamy, there were millions of seashells all over the beach and in the water, but he’d taken this one because it was the first one he’d seen.

Of course, she’d tried to tell him to keep it, but he’d just remarked that they could combine collections, finding all the loveliest things in the area to enjoy together. And she liked that idea too.

“I have something else for you today.”

“For us, you mean. It’s your collection too.”

She gestured to the bowl where they kept their treasures. Even before they’d decided to share the spoils, the trinkets had grown too numerous to keep in her coat’s pockets all the time, so Bellamy had provided a carved wooden bowl to store them in. She’d been fairly certain when he’d left it out on the table one day that it wasn’t something he’d had stored away in a cupboard, but rather was something he’d spent a day — or a few, perhaps — carving just for her. 

“Okay, I have something for us, but I think you’ll get more use out of this one that I will.”

The sentence confused her, because none of the objects in their collection were very useful, except maybe the hair barrette, which she’d yet to actually wear. The enjoyment came from finding them, the small survivors of a long-ago time. She liked to look at them often, but they didn’t really serve any practical purpose — just memories of a life she didn’t live.

She smiled into the empty air of daylight. Bellamy was somewhere to her right, but of course she couldn’t see him. This was the standard now, and she was used to it. She never bothered to search him out anymore, hoping in vain that she might catch a glimpse of him somehow if she was diligent — it was more than enough to know he was here. 

“Alright, you’ve got my attention.”

“Hold out your hands.”

It was probably silly to find this directive so thrilling, but Bellamy almost never touched her in the day, and never handed her anything. He was more comfortable being around her in the night when his energy had more form to it. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought he was a bit embarrassed about his state in the daytime — it was decidedly less human. Not that she minded in the least, but he always seemed to reserve their physical interaction to the evening. Anything he gave her in the light of day was left on the table.

She put out her hands tentatively, not wanting to move too quickly and scare him off like a frightened animal. 

Almost out of thin air, a long, thin object dropped into her palms. She grasped onto it before it could roll away, looking at it inquisitively.

“Oh!” She said with surprise. “A pen!”

“It works, too. I tested it earlier. I was surprised when I realized it was still functional, but it was buried a bit and the cap seems air-tight, so it didn’t dry out.”

“Wow,” she said, voice quiet with awe. “I never thought I’d see an actual pen again. Is it strange for me to be this happy over something so small?”

“Not at all. I’ve never seen a pen before, so I was just as excited. You should test it out. I remember you said you liked drawing on the Ark.”

“We don’t have anything to draw on.”

“I have a few books stowed away in the chest at the end of the bed. My mother used to collect them, and they’re the only thing I brought with me when I left. Obviously most pages are covered in text, but there’s always a few at the beginnings and ends that are blank.”

“You trust me to draw in your books? They must be important to you if they’re the only thing you kept.”

“They are important to me. Invaluable, really. And they’ll mean even more if they have your artwork in them.”

She laughed lightly. “You don’t even know if I’m any good. I might draw something horrendously ugly and ruin them.”

“You’re Clarke Griffin,” he said, his voice low and serious. “Nothing you do could ever be ugly. Not to me.”

She swallowed, staring to her right. Somehow, she felt sure that she was looking directly into his eyes, and that he was looking back. A heavy feeling settled in her stomach.

She nodded once. “Then I’d be honored.” Her hand curled around the pen, and she felt the wisp of his fingers brush against her knuckles.

***

Clarke was panting heavily, running as her eyes darted back and forth with maniacal abandon. Everything was empty — she couldn’t see anyone and she was all alone and— 

She tumbled into the next room, her breath trapped in her chest. And that’s where she found them. _All of them._

It was Maya’s body first, laying right across the entrance to the room. Her eyes were open and wide, her lips still moving as the skin on her face erupted into harsh blisters. 

_“You did this, Clarke. You betrayed us. And for what? They’re all dead too.”_

“No,” she sobbed, kneeling down and ghosting her hands over Maya, like she could somehow save her if she just had the right tools. But it was too late. The radiation levels were unsurvivable, and she’d never be able to get Maya to the hospital and hook them both up for a transfusion quickly enough.

_“This is your fault. You killed us all.”_

Clarke looked up, seeing all of her friends chained to the walls and covered in blisters too. They dangled by their wrists, limp in death. Soon, rigor mortis would lock them in those positions, and she would never be able to forget that this was how she let them die. She’d have to force them all back into a supine position if they were to be buried.

She’d done this. Maya was right. Clarke couldn’t save anyone.

Raven, Jasper, Monty, Finn — the friends she’d made since coming to earth.

Sinclair and Jackson — the only people left besides her that really knew her parents.

Octavia — a new ally, who understood the pressure she was under.

Wells — her best friend.

And in the corner… 

Well, there were hundreds of other bodies, faces she’d never seen before even after twenty-three years on the Ark. She’d never know all the faces of the people she killed.

But she was certain, in an absolute way, that the curly haired boy chained up and dead in the corner was new. Not a member of the Ark, and not someone from Actium.

No, she was sure that was Bellamy.

He’d worried that he might kill her. But he shouldn’t have — she was the harbinger of death, after all. He never stood a chance.

When his eyes blinked open, staring directly at her with a harsh, angry gaze, she screamed.

***

_“Clarke!”_

Her shoulder was being shaken forcefully.

“Clarke, wake up!”

She gasped, drawing breath into screaming lungs. Her chest felt tight, and it seemed impossible that she would be able to calm her racing heart if she couldn’t even inhale properly.

Strong hands grasped again at her shoulders, pulling her into a sitting position and leaning her forward. She felt a chest pressing against her back, settling into place behind her. 

“Clarke, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just focus on my breathing.”

The room was pitch black, and she could hardly remember where she was for a moment, too busy trying to count heartbeats and match breaths. Her whole body felt like a bomb — one wrong move and she would go to pieces, never to be reassembled. 

Bellamy kept murmuring reassurances to her, his tone soft and comforting. It all came back to her then: Bellamy and the cabin, their pocket collection sitting out in a freshly-carved bowl and meals in dark rooms. The only place she’d felt safe since the day the Ark fell from the sky.

And finally her pulse slowed, lungs expanding enough to pull in deeper breaths of air.

Her hand moved to rest on Bellamy’s thigh where it sat alongside hers.

“I’m okay.”

But she wasn’t. And that’s when the tears started collecting in her eyes, spilling over into heavy drops when she could no longer hold them back.

“Shh,” he whispered into her hair. “It was a nightmare. It wasn’t real.”

“It was. It was real,” she cried. “Not all of it, but— enough. Too much.”

“You’re not there anymore. They can’t hurt you again. You’re here — safe here with me.”

“It wasn’t them; it was _me._ I’m the bad guy. I killed them.”

He paused, running his hands up and down her upper arms as his chin came to rest on her shoulder.

“I don’t know what happened to make you come here, but I doubt it’s as simple as that. I know you, Clarke. You’re good. You’re so good.”

“I’m not. I killed them.”

He buried his nose against her neck, and she could feel his words almost more than she heard them.

“You’re good, Clarke. I can see you. You’re good.”

She took another deep breath, letting it rattle around in her chest. Then another, and another. His hands continued to trace idle patterns into the skin of her arms.

Eventually, after several quiet minutes between them, she clenched her hand into a fist on his thigh. His fingers, still moving on her upper arm, drifted down to blanket her hand with his own.

“Do you want to try to sleep again?” He asked, lips moving against her neck with the words.

“I’m afraid,” she whispered.

“What can I do to help?”

“Will you listen? I don’t want to… I don’t want to keep these memories locked in my head forever.”

“Of course I’ll listen. Whatever you need.”

She shifted, moving to lay down with her back to him. She pulled on his hand to drag him down with her, and he obliged, keeping his chest pressed up against her. His arm slipped around her waist and held her tightly. The compression felt good, like she might not crumble away into dust if only he would keep holding her together.

Her tears slowed, and she told the story with a detached voice, almost like it had happened to someone else. The plot of a book, or a movie she’d seen. Not her life.

“It started a few weeks after we’d reached Actium. We were in an alliance with Octavia, and everyone was working to expand the town, build new cabins, and help with the daily tasks. It was a big undertaking — Actium gained hundreds of new inhabitants over night. But despite our grief, we were happy. Healing. On the ground, after spending our entire lives thinking we would die in space. And that meant something to us.”

Her fingers moved along his forearm to grip his hand where it rested in the center of her chest, just under her breasts.

“And then the mountainmen came. They used a gas that the Actiumites had never seen before — something that sent the whole camp into a deep sleep. They must’ve kept strong surveillance on the town, because they managed to round up all the skypeople. Hundreds of us. They knew exactly who was going to be the most useful to them.”

“What did they want with you?” He asked into the back of her hair. He knew, as all grounders did, what the mountainmen could do to a person — the reapers were proof enough of their abilities. But the sleeping gas was new.

“They wanted our blood at first, and then eventually our bone marrow. There were people living in the Mountain. Three hundred and eighty-four people. Families with children. They had a school. It was almost like the Ark, only underground instead of in the sky. They were the descendants of people who had gone into the bunker during the apocalypse, and they couldn’t withstand the radiation of the world outside. They needed blood transfusions from the grounders they captured. And when they found us and realized our ability to withstand radiation was stronger, they needed us, too. Our bone marrow would give them the ability to walk outside again. They were just like us — longing to stand on the grass, the sun shining down on their faces.”

“They wanted to hurt you to do it.”

“They intended to kill us. Twenty-one skypeople died during the marrow extractions, and the doctor doing the procedures didn’t care to be cautious. It took more than one marrow transfusion for the average adult male to be safe from the radiation, and we had fairly comparable numbers to theirs. They needed every bit they could take.”

She paused, giving herself time to try to regulate her breathing again. Eventually when it had slowed, he prompted her.

“How did you manage to escape?”

“We weren’t locked away at first. They pretended to be our friends — tried to present themselves as a more _civilized_ alternative to being in Actium. We liked Actium though, and we liked being on the ground. We weren’t under attack out there, so we didn’t feel we needed to be hidden away. And that’s when things started to get more difficult — tighter restrictions, less time to see everyone at once so we couldn’t coordinate. My friend Jasper got close with one of the girls who lived there, Maya. She tried to help us when she realized what they were doing. She could carry messages between the separated groups, and she talked to some of the sympathetic members of her own people as well. There were a lot of families who were appalled when they learned what was being done to get them to the ground. They might have been desperate to leave, but they still had consciences. There were good people in there.”

She sighed, feeling her heart grow heavy again. So many good people, so many willing to fight against their own leadership to help her. It was her fault.

“When the President’s son Cage found out what we were doing, he started taking drastic actions. He moved all the skypeople to a central location, chaining them up so they could have their marrow extracted immediately. No need to wait, and no need to play nice. The ruse was more his father’s style anyway, and he didn’t care to follow those orders anymore. But Maya helped me escape, and I managed to free my friend Monty. He was the one who knew how to hack computers. I took him to the control room, hoping we could find some way to stop the massacre of our people. There were guards outside the door, forcing their way in to stop us. If they captured us, it would’ve all been over. They would’ve killed every last one of us.”

His hand shifted, moving to cover hers so her could fit his long fingers into the space between her own. He squeezed once, gently, to remind her that he was there. It was the tether that allowed her to keep going.

“They wouldn’t have stopped. I used the intercom system to speak to Cage, begging him to let us go. We could donate marrow a little bit at a time — it would take longer, but no one would need to die. We could all survive. But Cage refused. He took my friend Raven next, drilling into her aggressively to show me exactly how much he cared about my plan. And surrounding him were all his supporters, so he yelled to them to start killing the prisoners quickly. Bone marrow can be extracted from the dead, too. So just as the guards started raising their weapons against the last of my people, I—”

Her voice cut out, a sob raising itself in her throat.

“I killed them all. Monty managed to get into their systems, and I irradiated everything. Three hundred and eighty-four people. I pulled the lever and I killed them. It’s my fault. So many of them tried to help us. They didn’t support what he was doing. They were innocent.”

“Clarke,” he whispered quietly, his breath ghosting across the back of her neck. “It wasn’t your choice that killed them; it was his. He didn’t have to order the executions of your people — not when you offered him a peaceful solution. He signed the death warrants of his people. That’s not on you.”

“There must have been another way,” she argued, not willing to let go of the tight grip she kept on her guilt. This was her fault, her burden to carry.

“There was another way, and he refused it. He had weapons on your people. There wasn’t a choice.”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “I’ve killed a lot more people than you have. You can’t think yourself a monster while exonerating me. That’s not how it works.”

“Maybe neither of us are monsters. We’re just people who were dealt shitty hands, and now we’re stuck living with it. But we are — we’re living with it. And for the most part, I think we’re okay.”

“I feel like we live in our own bubble here. Like none of this is really real, and the outside world can’t touch us. I’m not sure I deserve it, not after the things I’ve done. But I’m happy anyway. Happy to be here with you.”

“Then we’ll stay in our bubble. You’ll pretend it’s not weird to have a faceless ghost for a companion. And I’ll spend every day telling you that nothing that happened was your fault — and even if you don’t believe it, you’ll always know that I really _do_ believe it. Because it’s the truth.”

“Okay,” she said, voice sure.

“So you’ll stay? I can keep you?”

“Yes.”

She pulled their entwined hands up to her face, and in the darkness, she could just make out the even darker void of each of his individual digits, filling the gaps between her own. Even the light from the moon outside the window seemed to disappear in those spaces, like his skin was the black hole that pulled in everything around it. She could commiserate, really. She’d been pulled in before she’d even known that she was at risk.

She brought his hand to her lips, pressing a tender kiss against his fingers. Bellamy stilled behind her, hardly breathing as she held his hand to her mouth. She wasn’t embarrassed though, and even under cover of darkness she didn’t blush.

After a moment which hung heavy in the air, she pulled their hands back again, moving his to rest along her collarbone, fingers curling just over her shoulder. Then she wiggled herself back, keeping herself as tightly pressed to him as possible.

This, she knew, was home. The cabin. Bellamy.

“Thank you,” she said, closing her eyes.

“You’re welcome.” His index finger moved back and forth, just enough to keep all her focus on the small movement along her shoulder. “You’re a good person, Clarke. I can see you.”

“I can see you too,” she said with a small, serene smile on her face. And she meant it. She knew him, and he was good. “I see you.”

She drifted back off just before the sky started to grow lighter. 

In her dream, she didn’t see the dead. She didn’t see Mount Weather, or Actium, or the people she’d failed.

She only saw the absence of light in the shape of a man. He moved towards her quickly, a hunger in his pace. And when he pushed her up against the wall of their cabin, she didn’t stop him. Instead, she leaned in towards his lips, allowing herself to be consumed.

When she awoke again, the sun already high in the sky and the hearth cold, she felt Bellamy’s whispering touch still against her. Invisible now, but still there.

Always, always there.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to put up another chapter before the show ends tomorrow, just to remind you all that I won't be watching and therefore this story will still continue after the inevitable disaster.

The snow fell in earnest not long after, and she was hardly surprised. The cold snap had set in a few days earlier, and it seemed that autumn had finally given way to winter. She’d been at the cabin for nearly three months now, and she was certain that she’d found her bearings. 

She could hunt, and cook, and build a fire in under two minutes. She could get a fairly accurate prediction of the weather by listening to the sounds the bugs would make. She was familiar with the songs of the different birds who stayed for the winter.

She knew Bellamy in the daytime and Bellamy at night. She was familiar with how it felt to fall asleep in his arms and wake up there in the morning. She could see him, and he could see her. It was a slow process, growing gently in her heart until the feeling flourished. She was in the middle long before she knew that anything was even changing. But they had changed, and she’d changed along with them.

He’d spent the day outside with her, laughing merrily as she made a snowman and spent a full five minutes trying to catch snowflakes on her tongue. When she’d laid down to make a snow angel, a second snow angel appeared just beside hers. She dragged her finger through the snow to write their names above each, smiling to see them together there. Two complete people, leaving a tiny, transient mark on the world. 

It was the best part of her day.

Bellamy had prepared a veritable feast in celebration of the coming of winter. The months would potentially be more difficult, but she struggled not to be excited by the prospect. Warm fires, cozy evenings, and hearty food roasting all day to keep away the cold. 

The dark coming earlier and earlier each night, giving her more time to spend in bed with Bellamy wrapped around her.

No, winter didn’t sound at all like a hardship. They had plenty of food, and water was in abundance all around them with the buildup of snow. They’d spent days splitting wood for the fires, and their pile was now enormous. Bellamy had lived here for years, and he knew how to prepare for the seasons. 

They could spend all winter holed away in their toasty little paradise and emerge just as hearty come spring.

“Tomorrow I’ll take you sledding,” he said as they ate.

“Sledding?” She asked, perking up immediately. The long day playing in the snow had tired her more than she’d expected, but the idea of going _sledding_ overpowered even her exhaustion. “I’d never thought I’d get to go sledding in my life.”

“I’ve never been sledding either, so we’ll get to experience it together.”

“Oh, but how will it work in the daytime if you’re in ghost-mode? Can you really sled that way?”

“Hm,” he said, pausing to think. “I guess not. I hadn’t considered it. But that’s okay, I’ll take you anyhow. It’ll be fun to see you try for the first time.”

“No, that doesn’t seem fair at all. Can’t we go when it’s dark tonight? So you’re able to sled too. I don’t think I should get to try it for the first time alone. You never had the chance to do these things as a kid either.”

“Not tonight,” he said. She immediately opened her mouth, wanting to keep arguing for his participation, but he continued. “I’m not saying never. Still, it’s going to be very cold tonight if the wind keeps up like this. We’ll have to wait for a night that is perfect — cold enough that there’s snow built up, but not so cold that you’ll freeze outside with no sun.”

“Okay. It wouldn’t be any fun without you anyway.”

He didn’t say anything in return, but, as was her custom now, she pictured him smiling in her mind.

***

“You should come to bed, Clarke. You’ll get cold over there.”

“Then I’ll be cold. I’m just watching, and no harm can come from that.”

She stared out into the night, seeing the white little puffs falling against the inky black sky. The only reason she could see the snow at all was because the moon was unusually bright.

“You could get sick.”

“You don’t catch colds from being cold, Bellamy.”

“No, but you’ve only been exposed to the diseases on the ground for a few months. This is your first ever winter. And being cold _does_ lower your immune system. People studying to be doctors should be more careful about getting sick.” 

She groaned.

“You wouldn’t complain if I wasn’t right,” he said assuredly. 

“I want to watch, though. Just a little bit more. Snow hasn’t stopped being exciting for me yet. If you were in space on the Ark, you’d probably spend all your time at the windows too.”

There was a pause, followed by the sound of the bed creaking as he moved. “Okay, I probably can’t convincingly argue against that point. You know me too well now.” The tone of his voice was teasingly scornful as he pretended that it was bad how familiar they had grown to each other, but the words warmed her all the same to hear.

She heard the telltale sounds of him moving along the floorboards, until finally he came to stand behind her. In the reflection in the window, she could just make out her own face, lit from the right by the fire, and the emptiness cast by Bellamy over her shoulder. 

He wrapped a quilt over her shoulders, and her hands came up to pull it around herself so it wouldn’t slip away. Then, before he could retreat, she leaned back into his chest. His arm wrapped around her waist in response as they stood together, staring at the landscape beyond the cabin.

They kept quiet for several minutes, enjoying the chance to exist together in a still, silent moment. Sometimes she worried that just one wrong word would break the whole illusion — not because she thought Bellamy was so fickle, but because… realistically, she didn’t deserve any of this in the first place. Their bubble was a paradise on earth, and it was hard to believe it was real half the time. At least in the silence she didn’t think she could accidentally unravel it all.

As usual though, enough time passed that she missed his voice. It remained the best way to know how he felt at any given time in the absence of physical indicators.

“Will you tell me a story?”

“Another?” His voice was playfully put upon.

“You said you liked telling them, so I don’t consider it a hardship on your part,” she teased.

“Whatever Her Highness wishes.”

She smirked at him in the window reflection.

“Do you know the story of Medusa?” He asked after thinking through his options.

“The lady with the snakes for hair?”

“Yeah.”

“Only really that. I don’t know much else about her. Snakes and stone.”

“That’s the gist of it, but there’s a little more to the story.”

“I’m listening.”

“So Medusa was a beautiful woman originally, mortal and as normal as anyone else. But she caught the attention of a god, and that’s never good.”

“Never?” She asked curiously. She wasn’t sure if he was talking about his own situation with such a parallel, or if it was purely about the greek myths.

“Definitely never. But Poseidon wanted her. Some versions of the story have her consensually having sex with him in Athena’s temple, which was an incredibly disrespectful thing to do, but the other story is that he wasn’t bothered with asking Medusa’s permission first. And based on all the other bullshit the gods pulled, that one sounds more likely. So he forced himself on her in the temple to a virgin goddess, and Athena got really angry as a result. Which would’ve been fine if she’d been angry with Poseidon, but it never works like that in myths. Humans always suffer the consequences of the gods’ actions.”

“So she cursed Medusa? For being raped?”

“Yeah. People for most of human history have been garbage to women, so it’s unfortunately not uncommon. Medusa was cursed to be a monster with snakes for hair and a face that turned people to stone.”

“She could’ve really capitalized on that,” Clarke said. “She couldn’t get revenge on the gods, but she could’ve been out there killing shitty guys or something.”

“Take it from me, it’s a lot more trouble than it’s worth sometimes. As far as I know, she basically kept to herself after that.”

“Sounds like someone I know.”

“And it would’ve been a good plan, too, only men had to keep being shitty.”

“Shittier than everything that had already happened?”

“Yeah. Killing monsters was a way to demonstrate ability and become a hero. Basically there were two guys who didn’t like each other, so one of them — Polydectes — sort of dared the other — Perseus — to retrieve Medusa’s head for him. He probably assumed that Perseus would die and he’d never have to deal with him again. Of course, that’s not how it played out. Perseus traveled to where Medusa had hidden herself away and used a polished bronze shield to look at her through the reflection. He managed to cut her head off while she slept.”

“While she _slept?_ That’s pathetic,” she said, voice serious. “Her life was ruined, they treated her like something you try to kill for sport, and then he didn’t even give her the agency to fight back?”

“It’s not a great story, but I didn’t promise it would be any good. Perseus ended up stopping on his trip home to visit an oceanside town being attacked by a sea monster. They were trying to appease the monster by sacrificing the King’s daughter Andromeda to it. Perseus used Medusa’s head to kill the kraken and then married Andromeda himself. Although she’d already been engaged, so he used the head to kill that guy too.”

“So he kills Medusa, uses her head to marry someone who might not even want him, and killed some other innocent guy to do it? You’re right, greek mythology is depressing. Did he at least die a violent death?”

“He’s one of the few heroes that didn’t, actually.”

She groaned. “Of course he didn’t.”

She pulled herself away from the window, tugging on his hand to lead him back to the bed. When she sat down, she pulled him to her so that his head lay in her lap.

“You’re not her, you know.”

“No?” He asked, tone light. “Cursed by a god to have a face that kills people? Hard not to think we’re the same.”

“Well… no one’s killed you yet. And they’d have to fight me first if they tried.”

She traced her fingers over the fine hairs of his eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, and across his cheekbones.

“Plus,” she said, tone light despite how serious she felt about her next words, “I’d want you to kill anyone who tried to hurt you. Don’t be nice about it; don’t be a martyr. You came here and made yourself basically invisible to protect people. If they purposefully seek you out, you don’t owe them that protection. Don’t worry — I’ll look away if it comes to that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” He arched his back before nudging her hand with his cheek to keep her fingers moving.

She moved her hand to his hair, letting herself appreciate it for the first time. It was a little longer than she’d anticipated, but incredibly soft. “And anyways, you’re hardly Medusa. She had snakes for hair, and yours is just curly. You’re more like a cat than a snake, really,” she said as he nudged her again.

“A cat?”

“Yeah. Curled up in my lap, trying to get my attention so I won’t stop petting you.”

“You’re the one who wanted me to lay like this.”

“I know. I assume people purposefully put their cats in their laps too, on account of liking them somewhat.”

“Have you ever seen a cat?” He asked incredulously.

“Of course not. No pets in space. Animals on the whole are shockingly new to me.”

“I’ve never seen a cat either, though I’ve read about them a lot. They’re all over Egyptian mythology. I’ve seen a few dogs though, and I’ve heard rumors of stray cats elsewhere.”

“If we ever find a cat, we’re adding it to our pocket collection. It’s our job to find weird things that shouldn’t exist anymore.”

“Okay, deal. If we find a stray _housecat,”_ he said with emphasis, “then we’ll lure it home. Nothing bigger than that.”

“You, me, and the housecat we lured home even though realistically it shouldn’t exist on a radiation soaked planet makes three.”

“Catchy,” he said. She rolled her eyes very deliberately in his direction. But then, of course, she smiled too.

***

A few evenings later, Bellamy declared it was finally the right combination of weather factors to go sledding. The snow on the ground was powdery and light, but the evening didn’t have the same bite the others had had since the seasons turned. 

“I did something,” Bellamy said as she bundled up in her warmest clothing that evening.

“Of course you did. I’d expect nothing less.”

“Aren’t you going to ask what I did?”

“I assume it’s something else extravagant and for my benefit,” she said, lifting her arms to highlight the fur coat he’d made for her months ago.

“Hey, you needed that coat.”

“But you aren’t denying that my criteria match what you’ve done?”

He stalled for a second before quietly, petulantly saying, “It’s for both of our benefit.”

“Well that’s at least a little bit better. What extravagant thing did you do then?”

“Come see,” he said cryptically. She followed the Bellamy-shaped shadowperson outside, where a sleek new sled was leaning up against the side of the cabin. It was gorgeous, which was the worst part of it all — polished wood crafted to perfection. They’d spent much of the last week together, so she didn’t even know how he’d secreted away the required hours to complete something like this from scratch. But of course he had, because he was Bellamy. That’s who he was. She wondered if he’d even slept, or if he’d joined her every night until _she’d_ fallen asleep, only to disappear to work on something to make her happy.

“It’s beautiful, Bellamy,” she finally said, staring directly at him. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could approximate where they would be. She wanted him to know, with complete sincerity, just how lovely she thought it was.

“You like it then?”

“It’s too much, as usual, but I’ve come to accept that that’s your way. You don’t know how to do anything by halves, especially when it’s for me.” Her face went impossibly soft, not knowing what to do with a person so wholly good. “I love it. Really, Bellamy. I love it.”

“I’m glad,” he said simply, but the words sang like springtime in the winter air.

***

She was surprised to learn, not long after, that a person could be _bad_ at sledding.

It didn’t seem like something that required much of a skillset — you sat on a sled and it did all the real work from there. It’s not like there was steering involved, and they were only trying to go in a straight line down the hill they’d found. 

But under the cover of moonlight, they both quickly learned that they weren’t actually all that good at sledding. After four valiant attempts each, they’d never yet managed to make it all the way to the bottom without being thrown off the sled and into the snow piles.

“How can this be so hard? There’s only one direction to go in!”

“Maybe because it’s so dark?” He said reasonably.

“There’s nothing to see anyhow. It’s not like we’re trying to dodge trees.”

“Maybe the snow or the hill isn’t as even as we thought, and it’s sending us off balance.”

“Maybe,” she conceded. “But I’ve fallen off both sides of the sled, and the land presumably only tips one way, if at all.”

“You could be overcompensating and leaning too far the other direction.”

“Then what’s your issue?” She asked, certain that there had to be an explanation for why they were both failing.

“I’m just bad at it.” His voice sounded exactly the same as a shrug looked.

“We’re _not_ bad at it,” she said resolutely. Then, with some small concession, she added, “But we should probably keep practicing.”

They each took another two turns, failing miserably each time, though the laughter helped to ease the wound of being bad at _sitting._

“Maybe we could help each other,” Bellamy said tentatively. 

“How do you mean?” She knew, or at least thought she knew, what he meant. But she’d like to hear him say it.

“There’s probably enough room on the sled for both of us to fit. Maybe with two people we’ll have more luck staying on.”

“Okay. I’ll try anything once.”

It was more awkward to get on this way, and Clarke had to dig her feet into the snow so the sled wouldn’t take off while Bellamy tried to climb on behind her. But once they were moving, his arms around her and their combined efforts at keeping balanced paid off.

Of course, they didn’t make it the entire way to the bottom, falling off a good ten meters from where the hill flattened out, but it felt like a victory.

It might’ve also felt like a victory because they’d fallen off together and found themselves tangled up in the snow, him on top of her, but Clarke really thought that was neither here nor there. It didn’t stop her heartbeat from speeding up, though.

“That was progress,” she said, releasing all the air in her lungs in a huff.

“This is progress,” he returned in agreement. Only, she felt certain the switch to present tense meant they were talking about different things. And if they were, she’d definitely like to skip to the page he was on.

“Oh?” She placed her hand on his shoulder. It was hard to see anything about his form, even with the moon shining down dimly over them. As always, he radiated emptiness, and she could only see the vague outline of his person, but that never stopped her from reaching out anymore.

His hand moved from where it had been resting on her waist during the fall, rising up to allow his fingers to trail across her hairline, pushing back the tendrils spilling into her face.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m always blushing around you.”

“I know. I don’t know why though.”

“I’m sure you know why — I don’t really hide how obvious I am. You make me a little bit nervous.”

“Nervous?” He asked.

“Yes. Nervous because… Well, I can’t be sure, of course — not unless you tell me yourself. But I’m always blushing because I’m pretty sure you’re always looking at me.”

“I’m always looking at you,” he returned easily. Like it was simple, just a statement of fact. The sky was blue, snow was cold, and Bellamy always looked at Clarke.

Her blush deepened. “I always want you to be,” she whispered.

His fingers traced along her cheekbone before stopping at the corner of her lips.

“Trust me, I already am. How could you really expect me to look away when you’re so lovely all the time?”

She smiled slowly, letting it bloom across her face until she glowed with joy.

“Then we’re evenly matched, Bellamy Blake. You’re the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met.”

He laughed, the sound warm rather than bitter. “You can’t mean that. You’ve never even seen me.”

“Of course I mean it.” She pushed herself up, dislodging him enough that she could force him backwards into the snow. She leaned over him, bringing her hands to trace over his features. “For two reasons. First, I meant what I said. _I see you,_ Bellamy. Everything about you. How good and kind and giving you are. How selflessly you love. How much you would do to protect people. You deserve to have all of that given to you in return.”

“I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”

“That’s because no one’s ever tried before. I want to, though. I want to be the person who gets to make you feel that way. Makes you feel worthy — makes you feel cherished.”

He swallowed thickly. “I’ll try to let you, then. Even if it goes against my nature.”

“Thank you.” She brushed a gentle kiss against his cheekbone, quick and light.

“What was the second reason?”

She smiled. “I trace your face every night, Bellamy. I know the contours of you better than I know my own. The slope of your nose. The cut of your jawline. The perfect curl to your frankly ridiculously long eyelashes.” She leaned down to place a kiss on the tip of his nose. “I want you to know that I would’ve felt this way about you no matter how you looked, because you are impossible not to love. But I’m also certain that you’re beautiful on top of all of that.”

“You’ll never be able to see it though.”

“I don’t care. Really. I don’t care that I’ll never see your eyes or know if you blush when I compliment you,” she said, dusting her fingertips teasingly along his cheek. “There’s so much of you that I _can_ see, and those parts will always be the most important.”

He let out a happy noise at her words. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You’re wrong. You deserve everything, Bellamy. I mean it — you deserve every good thing.”

“Okay,” he said.

She laughed brightly. “Okay?”

“Yeah. We deserve good things.”

He reached a hand up to the back of her neck, gently pulling her closer to him. His lips touched hers so softly at first that she felt her breath still in her chest. He didn’t push beyond that, letting them pause in the moment, but she was far too eager to wait. She’d wanted this — first subconsciously and then in a glaringly conscious way — for so long now that she couldn’t spend another second in suspended anticipation.

She surged forward, tangling one hand in his hair while the other kept her balanced over him. Her lips moved urgently, and he allowed himself to embrace that urgency alongside her.

There was plenty of time for perfect kisses. She and Bellamy could spend every day of the rest of their forever in the cabin working towards the ideal romantic kiss. And as such, she didn’t mind being a little overzealous right now.

It was wonderful to know that they had nothing but time to grow towards each other. This was her peace.

When they finally drew apart, she laid on top of him, resting her chin on his chest and looking up at him. She couldn’t see him, but she liked that he could still see her. The elated mirth that shone clearly in her eyes would do for the both of them.

“You know, I don’t think you’re cursed after all. All the stories have told me that a kiss that good should’ve broken even the most stubborn spell.”

He drew her up for another kiss, softer and sweeter than the last. “We’re not in a story, and I don’t want to be. Nothing we do here is for anyone else — we aren’t their entertainment, or their moral compass, or something they listen to to feel better about their lives. This is just for us.”

“Okay,” she said, brushing the curls back from his forehead. “It’s just for us.”


	8. Chapter 8

Clarke wasn’t too prideful to admit that she’d left the sledding hill the night of their kiss with the hope that she and Bellamy would have immediate and very gratifying sex.

(And really, after months in the cabin with her unseen — but often present — companion, and the months before that spent in some kind of fear, she was in need of a little relief. It’s not like there had been many opportunities to masturbate since coming to earth. But that was beside the point.)

Only they’d both returned to the cabin cold from laying in the snow and exhausted from the late night. In the end, she’d curled up facing the warmth of the fire and his body pressed against hers, knowing in her heart that something immeasurable had changed between them. The knowledge made her feel full — filled entirely with an awe-inspiring and terrifying desire to do anything for him. She wanted to love him exactly the way he had always deserved to be loved.

She’d drifted off into sleep that night with a quiet ease. The nightmares didn’t dare touch her.

***

They spent the next days in a joyful tranquility, just happy to be around each other. There wasn’t much reason to go outside when they had stocked themselves so well for the winter, so most of their time was spent near the fire, the smells of various delicious meals wafting tantalizingly through the space until it was time to eat.

He read to her from one of the books he’d carefully brought with him from Actium, pages turning every so often in the seemingly empty air. She liked hearing him narrate the novel, his deep voice soothing. He even did little voices for the characters, wanting her to be  _ fully immersed in the story, Clarke. How else will you get the full experience? _

She didn’t complain, of course. It made her laugh to hear how into the reading he got. She followed along with the plot as she drew in another one of his books, the few remaining blank pages something that she desperately treasured. At the minute, she was trying to capture the lake in the black ink of the pen Bellamy had found for her. She drew them sitting next to it, silhouettes against the lighter background. Of course, in the actual daytime, he wouldn’t even have a silhouette, but she was only going for partial realism anyway.

She had drawn herself sitting in his lap.  _ That _ was the realistic part.

When he finished the chapter, he closed the book. She felt the air shift over her shoulder, allowing him to look at her drawing.

“Do you like it?”

“Mhm,” he murmured low in his throat. There was a brush against her neck then — his fingers maybe, or his lips. It wasn’t so easy to distinguish between them in the day. “I want to keep that one.”

She laughed. “You’re keeping all of them — they’re drawn in  _ your _ books.”

“They’re basically our books at this point. You live here. You draw in the books and make them beautiful. Plus we already share your pocket collection. What’s mine is yours.”

She let out a louder laugh in surprise. “Sharing assets? Sounds dangerously close to marriage.”

She felt the brushing of air again, this time on her lips. When it disappeared, she flashed him a warm, happy smile.

“Being your cabin-isolation husband probably isn’t the worst future.”

“No,” she breathed out. “Probably not.”

***

That night, when the sun had sunk beneath the horizon of the distant hills, Bellamy whispered, “I have a surprise for you.”

“How?” She asked, genuinely stupefied.

“What do you mean  _ how?” _

“When have you had the time for a surprise? We haven’t left the cabin in days.”

“You mean  _ you _ haven’t left the cabin in days. I get up to all sorts of mischief when you aren’t looking.”

“Of course you do,” she groaned jokingly. “Aren’t you supposed to be letting me take care of you now?”

“You do take care of me,” he said, seriousness underlying his words. “You always take care of me, Clarke. I don’t need gifts to know that.”

“Still,” she grumbled. “I’d like to have more gifts to give you. At least slow down enough that I can try to catch up.”

“No,” he said, a pleasant laugh in his voice. “I like giving you things — finding something or making something that I think you will enjoy. You’re just going to have to indulge me. It makes me happy to be the one making you happy.”

“Okay, fine, you win. I’ll start begrudgingly accepting your very nice and thoughtful gifts as a mere courtesy to you. No other reason.”

“I appreciate your incredible magnanimity,” he said. “Close your eyes — I don’t want the fire to go out.”

When she’d dutifully closed her eyes, she felt the warm press of his lips against hers, now fully materialized in the darkness. She slipped her hand into his hair, sitting up on her knees to deepen the kiss.

He pulled away, a smile already present in his voice. “Clarke?”

“Hm?” She asked, trying to chase after his lips. It was harder to do with her eyes closed, but Clarke had never been a quitter.

“Your surprise?”

“This wasn’t my surprise?”

“No,” he teased. “Nothing very surprising about kissing me anymore.”

“Speak for yourself — I still consider it your best gift yet.”

He leaned in again, giving her another kiss, quicker and softer than the last.

“I think you’ll like the actual gift too.”

“Hard to beat the gift I  _ already _ had, but okay. Do I need to keep my eyes closed?”

“Yes. I’m gonna put it on the ground in front of you and then sneak behind you again. If I don’t there won’t be any firelight left to actually see what the gift is.”

“So reasonable,” she said, pulling his hand up to her lips so she could place a kiss against his knuckles before releasing him. “Okay, let’s see it.”

She heard some shuffling around her before he seemed to settle again, pressing his chest to her back where she sat.

“Okay, you can look now.”

She opened her eyes, and—

_ “Bellamy!” _

“What,” he asked seriously. “Don’t you like them?”

She stared in awe for a moment, words evading her entirely. Finally, after allowing her brain a few seconds to kick back on, she said: “Like them? I love them. This must’ve taken…” she stopped, feeling strangely close to tears. “It must’ve taken you so long to do this.”

His hand reached around and took hold of hers. She tried not to look down at it for fear of sending them into immediate darkness.

“Not so long that it stopped being worth the effort.”

Before them sat eight reasonably-sized clay jars, filled nearly to the brim with an array of colorful paints. It wouldn’t be enough to cover the whole cabin, but she could certainly paint a decently large mural.

“How did you get the pigments? How did you—  _ god, _ this must’ve been so much work for you.”

“I wanted to do it. The ink in your pen isn’t going to last forever — it’s a miracle that it’s lasted this long in the first place. I’d never made paint before, so there was a learning curve, but now I know how to do it again.”

She breathed out heavily, not certain he could even understand the magnitude of this gift. He’d  _ learned to make paint for her. _ For as long as they lived, she would be able to continue her art. All the evils of the world felt more bearable if she could bring a little beauty to her life as well.

“I love you,” she said, the words escaping her without a second thought. She turned in his arms so she could kiss him firmly on the mouth.

“Clarke—” he whispered around her kisses. “You put out the fire. We’ll have to light it again if you want to try them tonight.”

“I don’t care,” she said fervently. “I’ll paint tomorrow. I love you.  _ I love you. _ ”

She could feel the way his lips curled up in a smile.

“I love you too. So much.”

She moved forward, tipping him over carefully with her hand behind his head so that they lay on the ground.

She kissed him until they fell asleep, right there on the floor beside the dying embers in the hearth.

***

She started painting the bedroom walls the next morning, showing scenes of the springtime flowers, the midsummer harvest, and the autumn forests. She imagined evergreen trees, a bright, golden sun, and animals of all kinds covering the interior of their little home.

“It looks nice,” came Bellamy’s voice from beside her.

She nudged the air to her left as if she could possibly elbow him in this state.

“Only because you gave me the paints. You should really get better at that, you know.”

He laughed, sounding pleasantly amused. “What, at giving you things? I thought you were campaigning for me to cool it last night.”

“Okay, first off, I love your gifts and how selfless you are, even if I’m woefully underprepared to ever catch up. You don’t actually have to stop if you don’t want to. But what I meant was that you should stop expecting that I’ll hate whatever you give me. You always ask if I don’t like them, as if there’s any chance that I wouldn’t. I’d like a leaf plucked off the ground if you gave it to me.”

“I should aim lower then. Your expectations are much simpler than the bar I’m setting,” he said, a smile in his voice.

She traced the paintbrush he’d  _ also _ made for her along the wall, leaving a trail of green paint in its wake to form a heart. It stayed there for a few seconds before she smeared more green around it, making the base for what would be a tree in full spring splendor. 

“You set the bar exactly where you want it to be, which is the perfect place. I’m just saying that you could never disappoint me.”

“I’m starting to accept that.”

“Good,” she remarked easily. “I’m planning to make you get really comfortable with the idea.”

She continued painting, an idyllic scene taking form — the bubble of their little paradise.

The current of anticipation between them continued to crackle, live with energy.

***

On what Bellamy called the darkest night of the year, they had another feast, table laden with delectable dishes. She had helped prepare parts of the dinner, but she was still amazed by the final output, not quite sure where he had managed to find some of the foods that presently graced their spread.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much food,” she said, eyes wide in awe at the sheer bounty

“Didn’t you have any feasts when you were in Actium?”

“I think there was one when we got back from the Mountain. Some end of summer festival. But I didn’t attend — I didn’t care about anything going on by that point.”

“Well, we can make up for that tonight.”

“How will we eat it all? There’s way too much for two people.”

“You’re gonna have to gorge yourself, I guess. Can’t waste food, Clarke.” Her eyes took on a panicked look as she surveyed the table again, trying to mentally calculate exactly how much she would need to eat to not waste anything. “I’m just kidding! I’m kidding. We can save most of what we don’t finish. Winter is a great time for leftovers. It won’t spoil if we keep the food cold.”

She sighed in relief. “Okay, that makes me feel better. What are we celebrating tonight?”

“It’s the midwinter festival. Days will start getting longer starting tomorrow. It’s technically a festival to Chojheda, the goddess of plenty and the harvest. But some people use it as an opportunity to honor the other two gods as well. Hodneswor, if they want to keep the winter free from violence, and Getnesheda, if they want to keep trade routes open and the village safe from disease. It’s sort of a catch all day to celebrate the season.”

“Should we say a prayer in that case?”

“Our public prayer is really short — most people do something more personal later.”

“How does it go?”

_ “Osir heimbri gon noun, fiyanes, en uf gon kik raun os.” _

She liked hearing him speak in Trigedasleng. He rarely ever bothered, knowing that she couldn’t understand him, but there was something deeply satisfying about hearing those words in his low voice.

“What does it mean?”

“It means:  _ we pray for the wisdom, compassion, and strength to live well. _ That encompasses most of what people pray for anyway.”

“Which is the most important? Or the most revered by your people?”

“I don’t think there’s a hierarchy, really. They’re all equal, in the same way that the Thri Hayon are all equal. We need strength to defend and protect ourselves in the struggle to survive, compassion to do the right thing for others when we can, and the wisdom to make the smartest decisions in any given situation. The wisest people learn to balance all three.”

She thought about Octavia for a moment — the wisest leader she’d known. She often displayed strength, from winning the civil war which brought her to power to sending troops to the Mountain when the skypeople were in danger. She wasn’t afraid to fight and die if it meant she could save her people.

She was compassionate, too. There was no reason Octavia had to accept the skypeople into Actium. She easily could’ve led them into a slaughter, too fearful of letting them have any time to grow stronger that she would simply kill them instead. But she’d chosen to accept them in, giving them homes and a community. She’d welcomed them into their settlement, and in return she had gained hundreds of grateful and loyal residents.

And most importantly, she had always been wise. Smart enough to know when to fight and when to yield. Smart enough to see the line between allies and enemies. Really, Clarke couldn’t have been luckier to stumble upon a leader who so overtly practiced the three tenants that Bellamy’s people prayed for.

(She couldn’t help but wonder, just idly to herself, if the strength, wisdom, and compassion that Octavia had gained through years of leadership would make her more likely to accept her brother. Or if she felt a greater sense of remorse for what had happened between them.

She hoped that was the case, but even in her head Clarke was aware that she might be expecting too much.)

By comparison, the Council on the Ark was strong, and they were even fairly wise about some issues, but they weren’t wise enough to realize that the lack of compassion was their undoing. There was no sense of justice in their punishments — they maintained power through fear. If they had managed to survive coming to the ground, she was sure that there would have been some kind of rebellion against the Ark’s leadership. No one would follow the Chancellor who had floated their loved ones once the necessity of doing so had been removed.

But perhaps she was no better as a leader. She couldn’t save her people without committing genocide to do it, killing the very people who had been willing to fight beside her in the Mountain.

She tried not to think that way as often — not because she truly thought she was exonerated, but because she wanted to see herself the way that Bellamy saw her. Someone good. Someone who had been forced to make a terrible choice, in which either result would’ve meant the extermination of a group of people. Someone, certainly, who had tried up until the last moment to compromise. 

She wanted to be that person. For all the people she had saved, and all the people she hadn’t.

“We had a prayer too. I’m not certain it makes sense anymore, now that we’re here, but the words were always a comfort.”

“How did it go?”

“In peace, may you leave the shore.” 

She thought of Wells, chess, and football games.

_ “Kom chilnes yu na ban sishou-de au,”  _ he whispered.

“In love, may you find the next.” 

She pictured Maya, smiling and alive, surrounded by the people of Mount Weather.

_ “Kom hodnes yu na hon neson op.” _

“Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.” 

She saw her parents on the last night they spent together as a family.

_ “Gouthru klir hashta yu soujon, kom taim oso fali kom daun gon graun-de.” _

“May we meet again,” she said, words catching in her throat.

_ “Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim.” _

When the prayer was finished, she stared into the fire. It was the only thing moving within the otherwise still space, bouncing along merrily as though the whole tone of the evening hadn’t shifted remarkably over the course of a minute.

“The prayer,” he said finally. “...It sounds like a goodbye.”

“It is, I suppose. No one ever left on the Ark, so it was mainly a prayer for the dead. I guess you could use it for any kind of separation though. My people might’ve said it for me, when they realized I’d gone.” She paused, before tacking on, “Or maybe not.”

His fingers brushed along her shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said, placing her hand on his. “I’m just learning to say goodbye to my ghosts.”

She thought of the people she’d failed. Wells and Maya appeared most prominently, but there were dozens of faces she could conjure easily.

She kept her eyes on the fire and her hand on his as she whispered the final words again. 

“Safe passage on your travels. May we meet again.”

The exhaustion didn’t leave her soul, and the guilt didn’t disappear all at once, but she did feel lighter after saying the words. It was the darkest night of the year, the day that most keenly represented humanity’s struggle to survive.

Starting tomorrow, they would grow closer, minute by minute, to the light. To redemption.

She could be the person Bellamy thought she was, if only she could learn to accept her past the way that she had accepted his. The hardest challenge to overcome was always the ability to forgive yourself.

With his hand in hers, she could see the hope that still existed inside her. 

Spring would come again. Hope remained in the jar.

She smiled then, if for no other reason than that she was here with him, exactly where she wanted to be. The darkest night of the year felt like a blessing when it meant she could spend time with Bellamy Blake.

“I’m okay,” she said to him. “Or… at least I’m starting to think that I will be. But I’m happy for now, so let’s start our midwinter feast.”

She used the hand she was holding to drag him back towards the food, being careful that he always stayed out of her line of sight.

They retreated to their bed full and content afterward, looking forward to the long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, another gift from Bellamy. This boy is actually ridiculous.
> 
> If you're thinking to yourself, "where is the eventual smut I was promised?" then let me reassure you that the darkest night of the year is not quite over. Clarke needed to say goodbye to some ghosts first.
> 
> Also I am slightly behind on replying to comments, but I will definitely be getting to them all soon, including some from past chapters. Thank you for all your very kind words and encouragement. It makes writing this story so much nicer when I know that you all like living in it as much as I do :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's that eventual smut I promised you. To be honest, that's basically the entire chapter, so if you aren't a smut person..... sorry.

The night of the midwinter feast, they fell asleep more easily than Clarke would’ve preferred. The longest night of the year seemed the best chance to spend time with Bellamy in the darkness of their little room, and yet it only took a few minutes of his hand brushing gently through her hair before she was sent into a warm dream.

She woke up late into the night, the darkness complete. There was no moon in the sky tonight, and the fire had died down naturally over the course of the evening, only warm embers left.

For a moment, she wasn’t certain what had pulled her from such a deep, encompassing sleep, Bellamy’s chest pressed warmly against her back. Then, in the silence of the night, she heard a strange scuffling outside the cabin. It must’ve been the rustling that had disturbed her.

She sat up, seeing Bellamy’s dark form still in repose. She didn’t want to wake him for this — it was probably a raccoon or something similar. Maybe a cat, if the gods were feeling really generous on the night of their festival.

She reached to the side table, pulling a small candle out. She and Bellamy rarely used them. It would be a waste in the evenings when one look at him would immediately extinguish it again. Most nights were light enough with the moon to get by if necessary, but they kept the candles just in case.

She stuck it to the little holder that Bellamy had either found or fashioned — perhaps it had come with him from Actium all those years ago. It took a moment for her to get the wick lit, but once she had the tiny flame glowing, she was quick to leave the room before Bellamy woke up.

She went out into the main room of the cabin, tiptoeing carefully towards the door so as not to scare the animal. She wasn’t really sure what the goal was — it wasn’t as though they were hoping to adopt a friendly groundhog or a skunk with two heads. Still, though, it seemed worth checking out. For all the wildlife they’d encountered in the woods, things rarely came so close to home.

She inched the door open, not wanting anything wild to come in on the off-chance that the animal was dangerous. Rabies, she assumed, was probably still a thing post-apocalypse. Or, at the very least, it couldn’t be entirely ruled out.

When she finally found the source of the noise, she couldn’t help but quietly chuckle to herself. It was a squirrel-type creature, small with a bushy tail. The poor thing was running repeatedly into the exterior wall of the cabin, creating a steady thumping noise. It looked like something that Raven might’ve misprogrammed on the Ark, smart enough to do _something,_ but not in the way it was actually meant to.

She turned around, still laughing, so that she could pick up a little handful of the meat and nuts from their dinner. 

“I feel like Snow White right now,” she said sardonically to the squirrel, trying to lead him a little ways from the cabin. The squirrel, bright enough to know when food was on offer, or perhaps just tired from nearly bludgeoning himself to death, followed eagerly. She set the food down gingerly on the grass, still lightly dusted over with snow.

Once the squirrel was happily eating, she returned inside, being careful to close the door as silently as she had opened it.

Just as she was moving towards their bedroom door, it opened, the dark form of Bellamy standing in front of her.

She stopped short in order not to run into him head first, candle wax splashing over the side of the holder and onto the space where his chest was.

“Oh shit,” she said quickly. She reached a hand out, not knowing exactly where on him the wax had hit. Once it touched his body, it became another part of the darkness, but she was sure it must’ve hurt. “Fuck, are you okay? Where did it—”

She bent over slightly, hand moving across his body until she found where the wax had dried itself to his skin.

“Does it hurt? I’m not sure what temperature this wax burns at,” she rambled on.

His hand reached out for hers, covering it so that it was affixed to his torso. Slowly, he began drawing her hand up.

“It’s fine, Clarke,” he said, voice roughened by sleep. His other hand pulled her unoccupied one up so that it was draped around his shoulders.

“I could’ve hurt you,” she protested weakly. She was pressed so close to him now, fingers sandwiched between his heart and his hand.

“You couldn’t.”

Curling his free hand around the back of her neck, he pulled her in for a smothering, smoldering kiss. The electricity that had been zinging between them for weeks had finally erupted into an open flame, all-powerful and all-consuming. She could feel the exact moment that the tension finally broke, strained as it was under so much longing.

“I’ve dreamt of this,” he whispered brokenly.

She breathed out raggedly, a shiver running up her back.

“Will you tell me about it? What you dreamt."

His hand dropped down to her waist, fingers dancing lightly on the exposed skin just under her shirt hem.

“First,” he said against her lips, “you let me slowly, _slowly_ run my hands up your sides.”

His hands followed his words, causing her skin to erupt in little bumps.

“And then?”

“And then I carefully peeled off your nightshirt.”

She closed her eyes, barely concealing a groan as his fingers trailed along the sides of her breasts. Her nipples hardened as his thumbs skated just alongside them, not quite touching her where she needed it.

“I’ll allow it,” she panted.

Against her lips, she could feel his mouth pull up into a smile, a happy little laugh puffing out. Before she could move to press her lips to it fully, he pulled back, dragging her shirt up and off her body as he moved.

“Fuck,” he said, lips trailing down her neck as his hands cupped her tits. “You’re so gorgeous, Clarke.”

Head tipped back, she asked, “Did I get to touch you in the dream?” Her hands, resting against his shoulders, we eager to explore.

“Mm, not yet,” he teased against her clavicle. “I don’t have any clothing for you to remove, so you have to give me time to catch you up.”

“So you get to have all the fun?”

His mouth, having moved its way down to her breasts, took the opportunity to nip lightly at a raised, blushing bud. “I’m sure I can find a way to make this fun for you, too.” He swirled his tongue teasingly around her skin before he pulled her nipple into his mouth, making her gasp lightly.

Her hand went into his hair, anchoring him to her body. He lavished attention on both of her breasts, gentle bites being soothed away by even gentler kisses.

“And then,” he said, the words ghosting across her wet skin, making her shiver, “I guided you towards the bed.” He stood up straight, arms around her as he moved them to the edge of the mattress. She laid herself down at his insistence, all the while keeping her eyes on him and waiting for the next direction. He leaned over her, pressing a kiss to the skin where her neck met her shoulder.

“Do I take my pants off?” She asked breathlessly. “Or do you?”

He laughed again. “So impatient.” His fingers dragged down her bare skin until they reached the top of her sleep pants, pulling the fabric with him as he went. “I take them off, of course. It’s my fantasy after all.”

“I don’t know,” she replied, breath hitching in her throat as her pants and panties were thrown to the side, body bared before him. “Maybe you imagine me being in charge.”

“Sometimes I do,” he admitted, lips settling on her hip bone for a kiss. “But this time I want to savor you slowly.” Then his warmth disappeared from above her. When she peered down, he was knelt on the floor, taking her in.

She moaned as he began pressing delicate kisses up her inner thigh. When he finally reached her center, she keened under him. He made sure to splay her wide, positioning her with her feet flat on the bed on either side of him.

“It’s midwinter,” he said mildly, fingers trailing through her slick folds. Then, against the heat of her cunt, he added, “The perfect night to worship a goddess.”

“You’re the child of a god,” she forced out amidst the pleasure of his tongue swirling enticingly around her clit. “Shouldn’t I — _fuck!_ — shouldn’t I be worshipping you tonight?”

He pushed a finger into her before letting it drag out slowly, pressing along a place inside her that made her see stars. A second was quick to follow.

From his place at her feet, he shook his head, nose dragging against her clit as he did so.

“If today was all about the gods and their children, then it’s on my orders that I demand that _tonight_ be dedicated to Clarke Griffin.” His fingers began moving faster, drawing out the pleasure and stringing her body tight like an arrow, ready to let loose at a moment’s notice.

“And anyways,” he added nonchalantly between licks. “This is exactly where all of my dreams lead me.”

“Fuuuuuck,” she groaned, feeling like a live wire, alight with energy. “Please, Bellamy, please… _fuck,_ I need—” she gasped.

“What do you need, love?”

The words rushed through her like a physical touch, loving and reverent, setting her ablaze. “I need… more — please, more, Bellamy. So good. You’re so good.” She babbled out more nonsense, growing increasingly incoherent as his tongue and fingers sped up their ministrations.

Her fingers buried themselves in his hair, twisting around the curls like they were the only lifeline holding her to the earth. “So good, Bellamy,” she panted out heavily. “So good.”

“How are you so gorgeous, Clarke?” He asks, voice wrecked. “So perfect, so lovely. Want to destroy you in all the best ways.”

“Fuck. Fuck. Please, Bellamy, I need you.” She tugs on his hair, trying to drag him up her body so he can fill her entirely.

“Not yet.” His mouth pulled away, moving to suck bruises into the crease of her thigh. “It’s so pretty when you beg, though. What do you want, Clarke?”

“More,” she whimpered through clenched teeth. His fingers inside her and his mouth on her clit were driving her quickly towards the tipping point, and she wanted to get there more than anything.

She wouldn’t change their perfect weeks of sleeping curled together for all the world, but they hadn’t done anything to help quiet the raging attraction she felt for this man. Now, with him kneeling before her, she wanted everything. She wanted him to take and take and take until she had nothing left.

“Please, more. I — _fuck._ Please let me cum, Bellamy.”

She was so close — could _feel_ the finish line — when his fingers slowed, dragging agonizingly slowly along that spot inside her. Behind her closed eyelids, she saw lightning bolts.

“So beautiful when you’re saying my name.”

“Bellamy,” she said quickly around harsh breathing. “Bellamy, Bellamy, Bellamy.”

“You want to cum, Clarke?”

 _“Yes!”_ She hissed out. “So close — please.”

“Okay, love.” His fingers sped back up, pushing her to the edge.

“Fuck,” she said. “Put your mouth to good use, then,” she panted, “and worship me.”

There was a smirk in his voice when he replied. “There’s nothing I want more.”

His lips attached again to her clit, sucking it into his mouth so he could lavish his complete attention on it.

It only took a few seconds before the combined sensations were sending her rattling over the cliff’s edge, body tensed and bowing off the bed. His unoccupied arm pressed down on her hips, keeping her cunt against his mouth so he could continue his attentions through the entirety of her orgasm.

Finally, when the stimulation became too much, she weakly pushed against his forehead. He pulled back, looking up at her. As usual, she couldn’t see anything in his face, no expression or indication of pleasure, and yet she could easily imagine the twinkle that would be in his eyes. Her heart raced in all the best ways.

“Fuck,” she said. “Get up here.”

He crawled up her body, kissing bruises into her lips. She could taste herself on his mouth, and it made her stomach clench tightly. She wanted more. She wanted all of him, hungry to kiss him and taste him and _fuck_ him.

“Good?” He asked, a tinge of nervousness in his voice for the first time. It might not have been noticeable if she wasn’t completely attuned to all his vocal indicators after months of not being able to read his face. Still, she could hear it.

All this coming from the man who had told her how prettily she begged for him.

She realized, for the first time, that he was a virgin. Of course he was — he’d never had human contact with anyone outside his family before running away to live in isolation. For all of his bravado — and all of his clearly innate skill — he was worried he hadn’t done it right.

“So good,” she said, using her hand behind his head to pull him into another deep kiss. “Where did you learn to do that?”

He barked out a laugh, like the answer was especially humorous. “Books.”

“Books? What dirty books do you have hidden away?”

“The ancients were sometimes really perverted,” he said, tracing a finger from her shoulder down to her elbow and back. “And, surprisingly, a few of the books that my mom had collected over the years were bodice rippers. Her policy was that any book was better than no book at all, so she wasn’t picky.”

“Bodice rippers?” She asked, wondering if it was exactly as described on the tin.

“Fictional stories where the whole plot is basically just _these people have sex._ They’re fun if you aren’t looking for highbrow literature.”

“Dig those out first thing tomorrow. I have reading to do. Those books obviously provided you with a _quality_ education.” 

“Well that,” he said, “and also I’m supposedly the son of a love god.”

“Mmm, genetics did not let you down on this one.”

“Really?” He asked. She could feel his smile against her shoulder where he had tucked his head.

“Really.” She hooked one leg around him, pushing so she could roll them over, her in his lap. “In fact, I think you should let me show you exactly how good you made me feel.” She leaned down, ghosting her lips over the muscle in his neck.

“Thought I was—” he stopped, letting out a small whimper as she scraped the skin with her teeth. “—worshipping you.”

“You did, Bell.” Her hand began tracing down his chest, feeling the way his muscles tensed under her touch. “You’re so good _all the time._ Let me make you feel good for once.”

Finally reaching the apex of his thighs, she grasped his cock in her hand, tugging on it a few times as his breathing became shallow.

“Want to… want to be good for you,” he forced out.

She shifted her hips, letting her cunt drag along his cock slowly, back and forth. The groan he let out made her skin tingle. 

“You’re _so_ good,” she said, continuing her movements as his hands moved to her thighs. “So amazing, Bellamy.” She leaned forward, sucking bruises into the skin of his neck between her words. “You’re so loving.” Her fingertip traced a little circle around his nipple. “And gentle.” She bit down against his shoulder. “And giving. You’ve earned a little pleasure in return.”

“Please,” he panted, desperation coating the word.

“What do you need, sweetheart?” She ghosted her hand along his hairline.

“Please, I need— I…” 

He groaned, using his hands on her hips to try to show her what he wanted.

“What do you need?” She asked again, voice soft and loving.

“Clarke, please… You, just you.”

She shifted herself so that she was positioned directly above him. “Of course, Bellamy.” She moaned quietly as she sank down onto him, saying, “Anything you want. Anything.”

Once she was fully seated, he helped guide her hips into an easy rhythm.

“Anything?” He asked through the sparks of pleasure. Her only response was the rapid nodding of her head, too overcome in the moment to bother with words.

“I want all of you, Clarke. Every piece.”

He sat up, taking one of her nipples into his mouth, lavishing it with attention as she continued to ride him.

“You have — _fuck, Bellamy_ — you have every piece. All of me—” she cut off, groaning into his hair as his finger began circling her clit. “It’s all yours.”

His mouth, his fingers, his _cock—_

She was drowning in sensation, thighs burning as she increased her pace. She wanted to disappear into this moment, sinking further and further until there was nothing else in the world.

“So good,” she whimpered out. “So good, Bellamy.”

He grunted, twisting so quickly that she didn’t realize what was happening until her back hit the bed. Back on top, he pistoned his hips faster, making her cry out at the change.

“Say it again, Clarke,” he ordered, pushing her knees up as far as they would go.

She keened under him. She felt like she was on fire — had leapt into the hearth in a fit of mania and was now only waiting until the flames consumed her.

“So good, Bellamy. You’re… god, you’re so beautiful.” 

He pressed his lips to the base of her throat, breathing her in. Her fingers dug into the dimples of his lower back at the feeling of his breath skating across her skin. A summer evening breeze in the heart of winter.

“Love you,” she murmured, pleasure finally overtaking her again as she felt herself pulsing around him. “Fuck, love you.”

It only took him a few further thrusts before he was stilling above her, cum flooding into her.

There was something animalistic and thrilling about having his cum inside her, marking them in some small, transient way as each other’s.

Out of breath, he could only exhaustedly whisper _I love you_ against her lips before letting himself fall forward — carefully, though, so as not to crush her under his weight.

Not that she would’ve minded at the moment. If he tried to fuse them together for all time exactly as they were now, she probably wouldn’t disagree.

She reached out tenderly to him, running her fingers through his sweaty hair as he panted against her shoulder. It was reassuring, in an odd way, to know that he got sweaty too. To know that he retained some of the silly human imperfections that she had even after becoming something else.

Finally he slumped over, rolling to bring her with him so she lay draped across his chest.

“Clarke,” he said, a quiet prayer in the dark.

“I know.” She rose up over him slightly, flexing her back so she could look down into his dark face. Before…

Before, it had always just seemed empty — the absence of light. A black hole that pulled everything towards it, even her.

Now, though, when she peered down into it, staring into the depths of his person, she could see something else: the starry face of heaven, beautiful and intricate. Constellations, galaxies, whole universes in one man.

Seeing him this way was more intimate than anything else about their night. Her fingertips traced so hesitantly over his cheeks, as though he might shatter beneath her if she pressed too hard.

“My love,” he continued, his two whispered words so full of devotion that she had to close her eyes for a moment in order to take it all in. “Can you see me?”

She nodded, suddenly feeling choked by her own emotion. Against her fingers, she could feel his smile. He wanted so badly to be seen.

“I see you,” she said, the words truer this night than any other time she’d uttered them. Then, pressing her lips against his forehead, she whispered again, “I see you.” She let her lips rest there for several breaths before moving to touch her forehead against his, noses bumping.

His hand came up to cup her cheek.

“I have another story for you.”

“Oh?” She asked with a laugh. Moving to drop her head down onto his shoulder, she curled herself against the warmth of his body.

“A happier one this time.”

“Good. I’d like to hear a happy story tonight.” She traced little pictures against the slick skin of his chest. Sometimes, cheesily, she wrote out _I love you_ or her own name like a girl in a romantic film. It made her feel silly, and young, and unimaginably happy. It was exactly like the stories made falling in love sound, only somehow both bigger and softer than she could’ve imagined.

“In Greece,” he started, playing with her hair, “there was an older married couple who lived in a little cottage: Baucis and her husband Philemon. They were much poorer than some of their neighbors, but they loved each other immensely and lived a very happy life, even though they mostly survived on bread crusts.

“They had heard that two travelers were in the town, and though the others were much richer than Baucis and Philemon, the travelers were turned away rudely at every house they stopped at. In Greece, _xenia,_ or the practice of aggressively polite hospitality with defined rules for both hosts and guests, was really societally important, so the fact that they had been so rudely treated reflected very poorly on the town.

“When they came to Baucis and Philemon’s cottage, though, the couple welcomed them in immediately, giving them the little food and wine they had as proper hosts. The travelers were very appreciative of the kindness being shown to them after so many dismissals. Baucis, while pouring wine for one of them, found it odd that her pitcher never seemed to get any emptier. The food, too, seemed better than it had earlier in the day: the bread fresher, the honey sweeter, the grapes plumper. 

“Baucis told her husband in a whisper about the strange things that were happening, but he at first assumed that she had simply forgotten how much wine was in the pitcher. When he checked it, seeing it finally empty, a little spring rose up from the bottom so it could refill.

“Startled, he asked the travelers who they were, to which they replied that they were friends. Philemon, not thinking it polite to ask more, as was the custom of hospitality, simply allowed the travelers use of their bed, while the couple slept on the hard floor.

“The next morning, the guests were eager to be on their way early, asking only that Baucis and Philemon escort them part of the way to show them where they were going. They traveled up the hill surrounding their valley-town, and when the travelers told the couple to look back, they saw that the village was gone, covered over completely by a large lake. The only building left — Baucis and Philemon’s little cottage — had been turned into a beautiful temple

“The travelers, they realized, were gods: Zeus, the king of the gods, and Hermes, the messenger god. After traveling so far and being denied _xenia,_ they were grateful for Baucis and Philemon’s kindness in sharing the little they had. They allowed the couple to live in the temple as its guardians, and chose as well to grant them a wish.”

At this, Bellamy finally paused, bringing Clarke’s hand to his lips so he could give it a kiss.

“Baucis and Philemon asked only that they be allowed to stay together through life, both dying at the same time when their lives were at an end. Their greatest wish was to never spend a day without the other.”

“That’s a nice wish,” Clarke whispered.

“I think so too. And the gods granted it. Baucis and Philemon lived the rest of their lives in the temple, entertaining both friends and guests with a wine pitcher that never ran dry. And one day, many years later when the two were very old, they died together. As a final gift, the gods changed the couple into two trees, intertwined for eternity.”

“I like that story,” she said, wrapping herself a little tighter around him like she could entwine them for eternity through sheer force of will. “Killing the entire town was a little much, but the love story was nice.”

He laughed. “Yeah, the flood was slightly overkill, but hospitality was a central tenet of their values, and it was believed you should always be kind to strangers because you never knew when it might be a god in disguise. So Zeus could probably justify the murder to himself. And anyways, it’s the only love story from greek mythology that I could think of that didn’t end tragically.”

“I’m glad you told it to me. It’s nice to have a happy ending for once.”

They continued whispering to each other late into the night and straight through til sunrise. For the first time since arriving at the cabin months ago, Clarke witnessed the moment that Bellamy’s darkness faded into the morning wind. She smiled at him, feeling a soft, sweet caress along her hairline, her honeyed hair fluttering lightly with the motion.

When they eventually left the warmth of their bed, Clarke began a new painting on the bedroom walls. In it, there was a beautiful tree, solid and strong, growing from a valley filled with flowers. Their little cabin sat next to it, enjoying the shade provided. Then, just above the scene, a second, inverted tree hung down from the stars, twisting and tangling around the first so inexplicably that nothing could have ever truly separated them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a safe-sex reminder that Clarke would have her Ark-implant in this story, so no condom required. Please use condoms, y'all.
> 
> The next chapter is going to be fluff with a little plot, and then from there we'll have some actual plot (for maybe the first time?)
> 
> We are growing slowly closer to the ending.
> 
> I have a new (and complete!) medieval murder story up if you aren't subscribed to my author page. I am also working to finish the figure skating au, so the next chapter of this story might be slow to come out, but I hope not to make you all wait too long!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Remember me?
> 
> Yikes. Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this. Things got very busy between Christmas fics and stories written for the 100 Fics for BLM. I'm just now getting back to House with the plan to finish it this month! (hopefully)
> 
> I really appreciate all your comments and encouragement — I hope this update was worth the wait.

As the winter passed, the snow piles growing around the house, Clarke allowed herself the pleasure of falling into Bellamy.

They spent long hours in bed — he would trace the lines of her body, and she would play with his fingers or his hair, letting him fill the cracks of her soul. Each little fix made it easier to breathe after so long spent crumbling under the weight of it all.

It was the most relaxed she could ever remember being. They were warm and dry and filled to the brim each evening with the most wonderful, hearty foods she’d ever eaten. There were times when she could hardly remember anything else — the ache of hunger on the Ark and the fear and pain of the Mountain were distant memories, as though they’d happened to someone else.

It’s not that she wanted to forget. Some of her favorite memories of loved ones were tangled up in the darkest moments of her life, after all. Still, it was nice all the same to feel that they didn’t haunt every second of the day. For the first time, she knew peace — the kind she could’ve only imagined when she was in Actium in the aftermath of her people’s capture. 

Octavia had been right, of course. She didn’t need the forgiveness of others. She needed to find redemption in herself, needed to see herself as someone who was capable of being redeemed in the first place. And though there were still evenings when the nightmares came, the anger and pain of those who had been lost rattling around in her head, she felt more equipped to deal with it when Bellamy held her through the worst moments.

And in his darkest moments, he let her hold him, too.

***

One evening, when the room was lit only by firelight, Clarke sat herself with her back to Bellamy’s, reading through one of the books she’d already covered in ink drawings. She got lost in the words of the story, though it was nothing terribly exciting. Still, the main characters were in love, working to find each other again after years spent apart in war, and she wanted to know if they would be reunited. 

A lot of fiction from before the bombs, she’d noticed, tended to focus on the worst parts of life: the sadness, the loss, the pain of being human. She didn’t know if that was their constant reality or simply something they liked to enjoy when they became tired of their own lives. Just once though, she wanted to read something with a happy ending — something where they all live to the end, smiling and in love. It so rarely happened now, not when the world was so singularly focused on survival. But she’d like to think it could.

She’d like to think the quota for happy endings hadn’t already been filled. That, if they only tried hard enough, she and Bellamy could still find themselves like Baucis and Philemon, loving each other right up to the last moment, old and gray and filled with a lifetime of memories together.

Bellamy, meanwhile, was sewing behind her, humming a melody that she’d never heard before. Though she couldn’t look at him without losing the firelight, she knew that he was diligently at work, the stitching on his garment fine and precise.

With her eyes still on her book, she asked, “What’s it for?”

“Just more winter clothing. It’s not anything special.”

“For me?” She asked, despite knowing that he never wore clothes in the first place.

“It’s been so cold recently, and most of the stuff you brought with you isn’t enough to withstand the winds and snow.”

She laughed. “I’m hardly even ever outside at the point. You’re so good at hunting on your own that I’m only rarely of use.”

“I know,” he said, a smile in his voice. “But I also know that you love being outside when you can be. Just because I remind you that the earth is dangerous doesn’t mean you won’t run outside the second anything new happens just to marvel at it.”

“It hasn’t stopped being exciting yet. I still have too many first time experiences to work through.”

“So you’ll need new winter clothes if you want to explore further.”

She sat back, resting her head against his shoulder. “Thank you. I’m always thanking you these days. It goes without saying that you’re too generous.”

“I’m not,” he said, tipping his head so his cheek rested in her blonde hair. “You should explore as much as you like. Just take me with you and it’ll all be worth it.”

“I’d never want to leave you behind.”

“Good.” He kissed her head. “Me neither.”

***

The next morning, as she donned her newly sewn pants to match the beautiful coat, she joked, “You’re turning me into a grounder piece by piece.”

“You are a grounder,” he said, the air beside her rippling slightly. “This is your home now, too. Wherever you choose to be.”

She hadn’t really thought of it like that before. In her head, there had always been three separate peoples: those from the sky, those from the ground, and those from the mountain. With the mountainmen all gone, lost because of her fears and their leaders’ greed, there were only two groups left. Even with Octavia’s acceptance of those from the Ark — _your people are my people,_ she’d said — it was still hard to picture them as truly creatures of the ground.

And yet, the ground was their future. They would live out their lives here — marry, have children, build homes and find the everyday joys of this place. And one day, too, they would die here, buried under the soil that they had spent so many generations longing to be returned to.

“I guess I am a grounder,” she said quietly, testing the words to see if they felt true.

“Of course you are. You belong here.”

“I belong with you.”

“Well, I’m a grounder, so I suppose you should consider yourself among the converted, if only for my sake.”

“Would you go to the stars?” She asked curiously. “If you could. Give up the earth and all its splendor for a life removed from everything, surrounded only by a million miles of darkness? I know you romanticize living in space, but I don’t think it’d be worth it.”

“If you were there,” he said easily, “then I would follow.”

Once she finished putting on the last of her clothes, including a warm knit hat that Bellamy supplied from god knows where, they stepped out of the cabin’s door, intending to go for a walk.

That was another oddity that she found an immeasurable amount of joy in: walks for no other reason than because she wanted to. It wasn’t to hunt, or for a supply run, or to run from something, or to run towards something else. They simply wanted to take in the day, with no motive but to enjoy each other’s company and the sights.

Traipsing through the snow, she admired the views around them. The trees, once filled with warm reds and honeyed golds, were now bare, branches reaching up with longing spindles towards the sky. 

The evergreens, still dotting the landscape with color, were decorated with shimmering, glinting crystals on their branches. The ice reflected the light, making them shine like rare and treasured gems across the whole of the forest. 

As her boots crunched along the ground, she walked with a sense of awe, wanting to imprint this day on her mind. There was nothing to mar it — no blood or death or suffering. Only the wonderful, wintry fantasy that the earth allowed her to revel in.

“You always seem so absorbed,” he said softly, not wanting to pull her entirely out of her head. “Like you’re seeing beyond what’s there into a world of your own.”

“There’s so much to take in,” she replied, her breath making little puffs of white as she spoke. “After a whole life spent thinking I’d never see this, I don’t want to miss anything or take it for granted. You must get that, having spent so many years hidden away.”

His hand ghosted along hers, and she flexed hers as though she could reach out and grab it if only she tried hard enough. She couldn’t, of course — not until the daylight disappeared behind the horizon.

“I do get it, but it wasn’t something I focused on when I first came here. I was so… lost, I guess, at that point. I did take it for granted. But now I get to see it all again through your eyes, and I’m grateful for the second chance to appreciate it.”

She smiled up at the sky, her cheeks and nose red from the cold. “Then let’s keep walking. There’s a lot more for us to enjoy.”

They visited the frozen lake, and she stepped carefully onto it just to see what it was like. Her feet slid beneath her, but she shuffled carefully out a few meters, wanting to experience something that never would’ve been possible on a space station.

Bellamy laughed loudly from behind her. “If you fall, make sure it’s on your ass. I can’t catch you when I don’t even have a corporeal form, and I don’t want to have to set any broken bones tonight!”

She turned to glare at him over her shoulder, although of course there was nothing to see, just the white forest surrounding them.

Unable to hold the stern look, she eventually smiled at him, rolling her eyes. “I’ll try. Just enjoy the view while you wait over there like a baby.”

“Oh, I will,” he teased.

She turned back towards the lake in front of her, throwing up her middle finger behind her for him to see. The sound of his laughter and the chirping of the winter birds followed her, the soundtrack to a perfect day.

When they returned to the cabin that afternoon, her hands were red and chapped from the wind. Bellamy put up the furs to block out the little remaining light before carefully unwrapping her from the heaviest of her winter clothes and leading her to the fire, letting her rest there before it. She kept her eyes closed, enjoying the way the hearth and his attentions warmed her. 

She was certain that the caretaker in his head was already planning out how quickly he could make her mittens, and she smiled at the thought. No one had ever had the chance before to see how selfless and giving he was, and though she never wanted to take advantage of it, she delighted in allowing him to to show his love in a manner that he so clearly enjoyed.

Here at the cabin, removed from all her worst memories, it was so easy to be in love. To let him love her in return.

So, so easy.

***

That night, when they were pressed close against each other in bed, bodies joined and hearts racing, she felt complete. There was no other life she could imagine for herself better than the world here that they’d created. Their own little bubble universe, populated by the things that mattered to her most.

When they pulled apart, sweaty and panting and so extraordinarily happy, she brought his hand to her mouth, delicately kissing the pad of each finger one by one.

She allowed herself another few moments to luxuriate in the feeling of being held by him, but before long she stood up, moving to rummage through the few belongings she brought with her when she left Actium all those months ago.

“What are you doing?” He asked, and she could see from the corner of her eye that he moved to sit up, watching her from behind the veiled darkness of his face.

“I think I have something,” she said, trying to see into the depths of her bag without any light. “Something I’d forgotten about entirely, although I’m hoping I didn’t lose it.”

“What is it? Can I help you look?”

“No, it’s—” she stopped, digging around until her fingers found the smooth surface that she’d been waiting to feel. “Ah, never mind.”

She returned to the bed, moving to sit in the circle of his arms again, laying her head on his chest.

“You’re always giving me things,” she started.

“Yes, and you’re always telling me it’s too much with one breath and then saying it’s okay with the other, so hopefully I’m not going to be reprimanded again,” he said jokingly.

“No, although I’ve told you a million times it’s only because I have nothing to give you in return.”

“You do. You give me you.”

She smirked. “Not a fair trade if I already have you, too. But anyways, even though I’m shit at making things and I can’t knit or sew or do woodwork, I do have something that I can give you. Something I should’ve thought about a while ago, actually, although tonight is as good a moment as any to give it.”

“What is it?” He asked curiously. “Something from Actium? Or something from home?”

 _Home._ She wanted to correct him — say that _home_ was this cabin now and always would be, that the Ark was a distant memory, a part of her she would always cherish but could never desire to return to — but instead she just leaned into him further.

“It’s from my parents. I’ve held onto it since the day before my father was killed. When he knew that he would be floated for his actions, he gave me two things. His watch, and this.”

In her fingers, she held up a ring, golden even in the darkness, though tarnished from many years of use. 

“It was his wedding ring, given to him when he was married as a gift from his family. On the Ark, we all had so little, and of course we couldn’t make anything like this when every resource was so previous for survival. But things like jewelry were sometimes passed down through families or sold for ration points. They were the items brought up by the first generation — the ones who didn’t know they’d never be returning to earth.”

She took his hand, holding it in both of her smaller ones for the span of a few heartbeats. Looking up at him, she stared into the eyes that she could never see and yet somehow recognized instinctively.

Then she slid the ring easily onto his finger, watching as it disappeared into him, cloaked in darkness. She rubbed it gently, feeling where it sat just above his knuckle, the cool metal stark against the warmth of his skin.

“And now I want you to have it. Something from me — to wear every day and know that I love you.”

“Are you sure?” He asked, his voice strained with emotion. “I don’t— It was your father’s. Don’t you want to keep it? If it’s on my finger, you can’t even see it.”

“I don’t care. I’d rather it be here, where I can feel it whenever I’m holding your hand.”

She felt a teardrop splash down onto the skin of her hand, and without thinking she reached up to his cheek, brushing them away carefully.

“I don’t know what to say, Clarke. This is… It’s your memory of him.”

“And you let me draw in your mother’s books. Said they were something we share. Now I want to share this with you.” Her thumb moved across his skin, tracing invisible patterns. “He would’ve loved you, you know. Would’ve been happy to see me with someone who is so selfless and caring.”

He sniffled. “Maybe he is.”

“Is what?”

“Happy,” he answered, pulling her hand up to kiss her palm. “I don’t know where the _next shore_ is — the one from your prayers. But I’d like to imagine he’s there, happy for us and knowing that you’re safe. Him and your mother.”

She smiled, her eyes glazed over with tears. “And yours. Both of our families over there together, excited that we’ve found something worth surviving for.”

“Our families,” he mumbled. Then, pulling her in for a kiss, he whispered against her lips, “You’re my family now.”

“And you’re mine.”

He rested his forehead against hers, just letting himself breathe for a moment.

“You really think he would’ve liked me if we’d met?”

“Yeah, I really do. He was… very smart, and loving, and funny. He would’ve admired you, I think. And he’d be happy to know I’m not alone. That I’m not so afraid anymore — of the ground or myself.”

“I would’ve liked him, too,” he said, chuckling wetly. “If for no other reason than for bringing you into my world.”

Forehead still pressed to hers, he laid his hand on her cheek. She could feel the ring against her skin, and she knew that it was exactly where it was meant to be.

“Will you tell me about him?” He asked.

“Of course.”

And, shifting against him until they were both lying down, she did. Every memory — each prank and joke she could recall — came spilling out of her lips.

It made her cry to think about him after so long. Both Jake and Abby felt like a distant era of her life, but revisiting them through these stories brought them closer to the surface again.

It did more to heal her heart than she could’ve ever imagined. When she was done, she begged him to tell her stories of his mother, too. She wanted to know the woman who did what she could to give her son’s small, captive life meaning.

And when they had cried and laughed and brought the dead back with their words, they fell asleep wrapped in each other.

***

The following days were much the same, although she spent more of her time indoors again, letting the worst of the snowstorms pass around them while they huddled in their pocket of safety. Even here, with the earth and the elements doing all they could to be a deadly form of beauty, she never felt the gnawing worry that came before an imminent threat revealed itself. Unlike anywhere else she’d lived, this place felt removed from the rest of the world, an island unto itself.

The winter passed by until the snows began melting away. The birds who had long since flown towards sunnier shores returned, their songs joining those who had stayed. She looked forward to when the grey mornings and muddy grounds turned finally into the brilliance of spring.

One evening, as darkness settled and he played with her hair, she asked the question she’d always wondered in the back of her mind.

“If you could,” she started, nervous about voicing the thought aloud, “would you choose to be visible again? If you knew for sure that it wouldn’t hurt anyone anymore?”

“Why do you ask?”

He didn’t seem angry at the question, only curious. 

“I just… You’ve made a life for yourself here, and we’re happy together in this life. So I just wonder, if the option presented itself, would you stay? Shun the society that shunned you and remain as you are?” She quirked an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t mind, you know. You’ve always been whole to me exactly as you are.”

“I’ve never really thought about it seriously. Like…” he paused, trying to put his thoughts in order. “I guess I’ve always wanted to be _cured,_ for lack of a better word, if only so I wouldn’t be a threat to others. So I wouldn’t have to be afraid of myself. And if I’m thinking like that, then the only answer would be yes.

“But now it’s different, I think. You’ve made me realize that, as long as I’m careful to not reveal myself, then I don't have to see myself as something broken. I’m not. This is just who I am — the reality of my life. And I’ve never been able to consider the question from that perspective before.”

“But you’re considering it now?” She asked.

He hummed, giving himself time to think, and she didn’t rush him, letting her head fall to his lap so he could continue to tangle his fingers in the waves.

“I guess… I think I’d still probably like to be seen, if it was possible. Not because I’m afraid of myself, but just because it would be easier. To travel, to see Octavia again, to... I don’t know if we could ever truly mend our relationship, but it would be nice to apologize to her properly after all this time. And to live a normal life with you, even if you don’t mind the one we’ve created here.”

“The life we’ve created here is exactly what I want, no matter what you look like. I hope you know that. I’d never want you to change for me — only for yourself, and only if it’s what you truly think is best.”

“I do,” he says, sounding more sure. “I think it would be best, and I would be doing it for myself. To feel like I could give myself any future I want, even if that’s just here in our hideaway together. It would mean something for me to _choose_ this life. Does that make sense?”

She smiled up at him. “It does.”

“What sparked your curiosity?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just wondered how you felt about things now — if you’re happy even with the life that you didn’t choose. And I’m glad you are.”

A warmth settled into her bones, but in the back of her mind she couldn’t help but wonder if there was another reason the question was finally raised after all this time.

***

That night, he kissed her until they both fell into a doze, curled around each other tightly.

Nightmares were fewer in number these days, giving her more nights of peace. She would almost say she enjoyed dreaming now — she often saw landscapes and animals throughout the various seasons, reminding her of what would return once they shook off the final vestiges of winter. Sometimes she dreamt of the Ark or Actium, and it was nice to be reunited with her family and friends if only for a moment.

Sometimes she dreamt of Bellamy. 

_Often_ she dreamt of him. He’d be a shadow, or a breeze, or an outline, or a person. 

Her favorites were always when she saw him as himself — a man with twinkling eyes and a sunny smile. She would hold his face in her hands, marveling at finally being able to see him exactly as he was, and exactly as she’d always known he would be.

But each morning after such a dream, his face would blur in her memories, and only the vaguest recollection would remain. She tried to hold onto it, wanted to be able to tell him what he looked like if he ever asked. Wanted to know the color of his hair, his eyes, his lips. She would be his mirror, if only she could keep the picture from slipping away through her fingers like sand.

She never quite managed it, but she loved those nights anyway. Loved to have those small moments with him, knowing that her heart held parts of him that the rest of the world may never see. It felt as though the universe was revealing the secret of Bellamy Blake to her a single piece at a time.

That night, though, she didn’t see Bellamy at all. Instead she was in the woods, lush and green again with the heat of summer. Her jacket — the one she’d worn after the dropship’s landing — stuck to her skin oppressively, and she rolled her shoulders to try to get the uncomfortable, sticky feeling to go away. It didn’t.

She looked around, confused about what was happening. Usually, for all she enjoyed her dreams, she really had no say in their events. Often she didn’t even know she was dreaming, existing in the imaginary world as if it had always belonged to her. Only upon waking would she realize the truth.

Here, though, as she walked aimlessly through the trees while trying to keep her footing, she wondered what she was meant to do. She’d never had so much free will in her own mind, and it was oddly frightening. 

She continued through the forest, rounding a lake as she traveled. At least her subconscious had created something beautiful — wild and inviting.

Just as she thought the words, she looked up and her heart stopped, instantly taking the sentiment back.

Before her was a deer, calm and still in the undergrowth.

A deer with two heads.

She remembered Octavia’s words again, all that time ago when they discussed religion in Actium. 

_The two headed creatures are sent by the gods, Clarke. One head sees your virtues, the other your flaws. They stare into our past, seeing our fears and hopes and desires, judging us according to whether we are worthy._

She recalled seeing this deer — the same deer, she was certain — as she’d made her way to the cabin for the first time, fleeing from the life that haunted her. She’d wondered then if it had seen into her heart and found her wanting.

As she looked at him now, not dropping her eyes this time to avoid being seen, she wondered if he saw her strength. If he knew of what she’d been through and what she’d survived. If he understood that she was healing, putting herself back together day by day until there was something whole at the end, worthy and loved.

The deer’s neck turned, allowing his second set of eyes to look upon her. She waited. Perhaps, given enough time, she would know finally whether it was all enough. If the effort she’d made for herself and for Bellamy would redeem her.

After several moments of tense silence, she heard a voice. The sound of it made a chill run down her spine, but she didn’t look away.

“Clarke Griffin,” he said, though neither mouth moved in the slightest. The sound resonated in her head.

“Yes,” she confirmed. She tried to keep her voice steady. “Which of the _Thri Hayon_ do I have the honor of meeting tonight?”

_The two headed creatures are sent by the gods._

And yet she was certain that this animal was not sent by the gods, but was rather a manifestation of them. It was either Hodneswor, Chojheda, or Getnesheda. She didn’t know which, though she could hazard a guess.

The deer didn’t speak, but continued to stare through her curiously. If it had eyebrows, she was sure they’d be raised at her, waiting for her to answer her own question.

“Hodneswor. Of course.” She smiled sardonically. “Bellamy’s father.”

She didn’t know what to do at this point. She’d never worshipped his gods — never had a good enough reason to do so, even knowing that he was supposedly a descendant of one. She was too skeptical to ever fully give in, at least until this moment.

She stayed still, unwilling to supplicate herself before him even now. He was here, visiting her in the only place that no one else could ever touch her: her mind. She would be smart to fear him, to wonder if he could send her into madness like the gods in the stories sometimes did.

Still, she did not move, staring at him as she waited. He came to her, and so surely he must have something to say.

“You think yourself worthy,” the voice said again, echoing in the back of her skull.

“I don’t think myself unworthy, sir. Not any longer.”

“You think that you can save him? That you can change what he is?”

She squinted at him in confusion. “I think that he can save himself. That he can decide for himself what he wants.”

“He already has. You heard him.”

She thought back to earlier that evening, when he’d said aloud for the first time, knowing all that he now knew about himself, that he would still change if he could. If it were possible.

“If I thought I could help him have what he wants, I would do it. Is that why you’ve come? Are you making me an offer?”

“I’m giving you a _choice,”_ Hodneswor said, the strength of his voice making her worry her lip to avoid a greater reaction. “You can try to help him, if that is indeed what you would like to do. You can give him all that he desires, the life that was stolen from him as my child. But you will have to earn it, have to prove that he is worth a sacrifice. No one else has ever been important enough to him to be worthy of the attempt.”

She swallowed heavily. “What will I have to sacrifice?”

The deer blinked at her. “That’s not for me to say. You only need know that the choice is there. If you decide not to take it, you may indeed live the rest of your life by his side, but you will have to do so with the knowledge that you kept him from anything more. Can you do that?”

“No, I… I want to help him, but you haven’t told me how.”

“There are cliffs,” the creature said. “A few hour’s journey from your cabin. You will go there in the morning without telling Bellamy that you’re leaving. See to it that you’re gone before the sun rises, and that he doesn’t awaken as you go. He cannot be there when you arrive, and he is not to know what you’re doing. This choice is yours alone.”

“And what will I find when I arrive?”

“A test. One I urge you not to fail.”

“And if I happen to fail…?”

The deer stared at her again, unwilling to divulge anything along that vein of thought.

“Okay,” she said, trying to stay calm. “Tomorrow morning?”

“You will have three days to decide. After that, the test will not present itself if you manage to find your way to the cliffs.”

“If?” She asked. “How am I meant to get there at all if it’s so difficult to find in the first place? Is _that_ the test?”

The deer turned one head away, seemingly annoyed at her many questions. “The path will be revealed to you if you make the choice in time.”

“Okay,” she said again, trying to get her thoughts in order by reciting the instructions aloud. “Three days to choose. Leave before sunrise. Follow the path to the cliffs. Take a test to help Bellamy, or fail and something terrible happens.” She scratched at her forehead. “Okay… okay. I understand what you’re offering.”

“I will not offer this again. Not to you.”

“I know. I’m… I don’t intend to fail him.”

“Be certain before you leave. Certain that you’ve chosen the option you truly want.”

She thought of Bellamy — a shadow, a person, a lover, a man. The most giving, devoted creature on the planet who only ever thought of her and her needs. 

For all that he had given her these many months, she wanted to do it. Wanted to give him the dignity of his choice. And then, if they chose to stay at the cabin for eternity, twined together until they too became a part of the trees, then she would be happy. And if he wanted to return home, then she would follow him there, too. But he deserved to be able to make those choices without fear.

“I will be sure. And I won’t fail.”

The deer dipped his head in understanding, a small nod of assent for the choice she’d made.

She smiled politely. “And thank you, Hodneswor. For allowing me the chance to try. I don’t know why he had to be born that way — if it was deliberate or an accident or what — but I appreciate the opportunity to change it.”

“Are those your final words?” He asked, and though it doesn’t seem judgmental, she wondered if there was something else he was waiting for.

She racked her brain, trying to think of what else she should say — what else she might ask for.

The words came to her lips without thought in the end, forming themselves from the memory of saying them with Bellamy on the longest night of the year, the first night he’d touched her the way she’d longer for.

_“Ai heimbri gon noun, fiyanes, en uf.”_

I pray for wisdom, compassion, and strength.

All four eyes held her in his gaze, and she tried to look worthy, even if just for this moment.

Finally, Hodneswor said only three words.

_“Em ste odon.”_

It is done.

She didn’t know how she knew the words, but she was sure of their meaning. She’d asked for wisdom, compassion, and strength, and he’d granted them.

When she woke, the sun was already rising. She turned to see Bellamy beside her, moments away from disappearing into the light again as he did each morning.

She could leave now if she hurried, run to follow the path provided to her by Hodneswor.

Instead, she waited, giving herself this bit of time with him — just in case it was the last time she would ever get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot????? In House Beyond Sunrise???????????
> 
> We're nearing the end, so there's a smidge of plot to get through before we're back to our regularly scheduled injection of fluff. Hopefully it's a fun journey to the finish line!
> 
> Comments are chicken soup for the fic writer's soul :)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's plot time!!!!
> 
> This chapter actually got quite dark, although in fairness this is always where the story was heading. **Please heed the new tags. There is canon-typical violence in this chapter, and there are strong references to suicide (though it should be noted that no character is actually suicidal). Please don't read this if you are concerned about these topics being an issue.**
> 
> This chapter, and a lot of the story, actually, was based on "Psyche Opening the Golden Box" by John Waterhouse, which I have posted the image of below. You'll see how this all connects soon.
> 
> There are also pretty strong references to the season 6 episode Nevermind, so keep that in mind going forward.

On the final night, Clarke couldn’t sleep a wink, her mind betraying her each time she tried to close her eyes. In her head, she tried to claim that it was just the logical thing to do — after all, she couldn’t risk oversleeping and missing her window of time to sneak away. 

But she knew at heart that that wasn’t the reason. She had always been a light sleeper, able to wake at the slightest urging. If she told her body to rise before the sun, it would.

No, she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t fathom spending what might very well be her final hours with Bellamy in any other fashion. She wanted to knot her body around his, tied so tightly that they would never be able to separate. The best parts of herself — the parts that provided her grace and forgiveness and joy — were wrapped inextricably in him, and she couldn’t imagine what the result would be if something happened to her while she was gone.

Or if somehow, something happened to _him._

The sensible part of her didn’t want to leave. There was no imperative to do this — Bellamy had said himself that he’d be perfectly happy just as they’ve always been. She was sure he hadn’t said that just to placate her — it had been entirely in earnest.

But he deserved the choice he craved. He deserved to _want_ to stay here with her, or he deserved to want to go somewhere else, completely unencumbered by the struggles that have always followed him. 

She was the only person who could give him this gift. The gods may never grant this chance to another, and she can’t pass up the opportunity.

So instead of sleeping, she buried her face in his chest, allowing herself to melt into the darkness surrounding them. Where once it might’ve caused fear, it now only brought her the greatest sense of contentment and comfort. She was home here in his arms, and she would enjoy that feeling until the last possible second.

***

With the fire having been out all night, it was slightly painful to slide away from Bellamy’s body and out from under the furs, but she did so carefully. She was only lucky that the snow had melted, giving way to the whispered touches of spring. If it had been any colder, she felt certain that Bellamy would’ve awoken from the sound of teeth chattering.

She picked up her clothing — an old henley, a pair of grounder pants, and the coat Bellamy had gifted her in the early days of their friendship — and dragged them out with her to the other room to dress. She didn’t want to make any excess noise.

The sun hadn’t yet started to peek over the horizon, still about an hour before it should start to rise, so she moved slowly, not used to working entirely in the dark. As she slid on her shoes, she looked over the interior of the cabin once more, preserving in her memory the beauty and tranquility of this place. She assumed she’d be home tonight or tomorrow at the latest, but it was impossible to be certain. 

If she wasn’t to return — or even if she was — she wanted to hold this place in her heart for whatever came next. 

She tiptoed over to the table, looking down into the bowl that held their pocket collection. It had grown over the months, and now some two dozen things were mixed together in it, odds and ends that should no longer exist. Their days spent searching for interesting relics had always brought a smile to her face, and even now she felt a little rush of love and affection for Bellamy as she looked down at their treasures.

Impulsively, she reached in and pulled out two objects. The first was the seashell Bellamy had added to the collection from his own personal items. He’d found it long before he’d met her on an outing alone to the beach, and it was the first thing he’d given to the collection that had been entirely his. She rubbed her thumb along the smooth exterior, smiling at the knowledge that, even then, he’d seen their lives as being linked enough to share the few small possessions that they’d kept sheerly for the joy of having them.

The other object was a dime, another of his early additions to her stash. He’d found it while out walking one day and had immediately picked it up, thinking of her. The exterior was so dulled by time that she could hardly believe he’d noticed it among all the dirt and leaves on the ground, and it was special to her specifically for that reason. He must’ve cared so much about making her happy, even in those early days.

She looked down at them in her palm with fondness for a few spare moments, thinking of the wonderful and beautiful man sleeping only a room away, before sliding them both into her pocket for safe keeping. She hoped they would bring her some measure of luck.

Then she slipped out of the door and into the darkness of the morning. 

***

She started out walking aimlessly, hoping the path would reveal itself as Hodneswor had claimed it would. Without any sunlight, it was difficult not to trip every few steps, roots and fallen trees working to get in her way, but she moved as carefully as she could through the undergrowth.

The only thing she knew was that the test would happen near cliffs, so she moved east in the hopes that that would be correct. It would take her closer to the sea, and with any luck there’d be some cliffs overlooking the water.

She cursed each time her foot caught on something, wishing that the path she’d been promised would appear sooner rather than later. Just as she let the thought cross her mind, the ground seemed to light up in front of her.

She squinted down at it, trying to figure out exactly where the light was coming from. It was like, all at once, each plant moving in a straight line out in front of her had simply decided on a whim to become bioluminescent.

In the chaotic aftermath of landing on earth and the journey to Actium, they had seen several bioluminescent plants, but they’d always grown in clusters, and they’d always looked more or less like the others around them.

Here, plants of every species seemed to be lighting up, though it was often only one or two flowers wide. They formed a long line stretching out before her, and she cautiously put one foot in front of the other to follow where they led.

As she walked, she noticed the plants behind her would again fade to their normal hue, going dark in the absence of any sunlight. She wondered if Hodneswor was ensuring that Bellamy wouldn’t be able to follow the trail.

Mindful of how far she would have to travel before Bellamy noticed she was gone, she picked up the pace, moving as quickly as she could in the dim light. 

By the time the sun began to crest the horizon, she was running.

***

It took a few hours even with her increased speed, but soon enough she could feel salt spray on her cheeks and hear the sound of waves crashing in the distance. She slowed her pace, tired after the lengthy trek, and looked around her as the path neared the cliffs. She didn’t want to be caught unaware — if this was where the test was to take place, then she had to be ready for anything.

The green of the woods grew sparser and sparser as she continued, until eventually it was more rock and dirt than anything else. As she exited the treeline into the open air, she saw the edge of the cliffs before her. There were probably about 100 meters between her and the jagged, rocky dropoffs, after which there was only the sea churning below.

She approached warily, each step precise and careful in this unfamiliar place. There was a real and present worry that a foot out of place could be her undoing here.

As she continued forward, she noticed two rocks standing higher than the others — pillars awaiting her arrival. On each was a box, gilded and covered in heavy gems.

The first box sat placidly on its perch, a gentle green glow emanating from the cracks. Her hand ghosted along the top of the box as she walked by it, curious to know what it contained.

The other box did not sit silently. It shined with an angry red hue, the whole box shaking violently in place, as though vengeful spirits were trying to escape. Even seeing it from a distance, she knew she didn’t want to discover what was in that box.

She wondered if this was it — if this choice was her test. Maybe they signified something. Green for choosing to live in peace and red for choosing to revert to brutality. Or maybe red was her past, with all the fears and anger that it held, and green was her future.

It seemed too easy to choose the green box, but as she stared between them, she knew in her heart that it was the one she felt naturally drawn to. She wasn’t the same girl who had landed on earth nearly a year before. The things she’d seen and done were in many ways reprehensible, but she’d worked to move on and find solace in herself. There was nothing that hating herself would accomplish — she could only hope to learn and improve from past mistakes.

Swallowing heavily, she approached the green box, praying that this was the right choice. Hodneswor hadn’t specified what would happen if she failed, but she wasn’t eager to find out.

Reaching out with a shaking hand, she put a single finger under the lip of the box. She just rested it there for a second while she psyched herself up, but after a deep breath, she flicked it up so that the lid could swing on its hinges.

Instead, nothing moved.

“Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She glanced around herself quickly, wondering if something would jump out now to declare her test over. Perhaps this had been it — perhaps the wrong choice had already been made and catalogued by the universe.

But nothing happened, and she turned nervously on her heel to face the other box. 

If she couldn’t open green, that must mean…

The red box seemed to stare back at her ominously, still shaking loudly in place. 

She thought of those early days, when Bellamy had told her the story of Pandora and her jar. When Pandora had opened it, overcome by the curiosity given to her by Zeus at her creation, all the evils had flown out into the world to wreak havoc. Disease, famine, war, strife, vice, hatred, death…

Only hope had remained. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if this would be similar. 

She didn’t want to open the box — she wasn’t in any way tempted like Pandora had been — and yet she felt she couldn’t turn back now. This was the test she had chosen to take on Bellamy’s behalf. She wasn’t even sure if she could quit after coming all this way. She’d committed herself to finishing one way or another, and if she didn’t try, she was sure Hodneswor would consider this her failure.

Frightened by what the box held, she proceeded towards it timidly. She didn’t want to be afraid — didn’t want to showcase her fears for the gods to see — but it was hard not to be when she had no idea what would happen when she opened it.

As she reached the pillar of rock, she set her hand on the flat top, fingers just a few centimeters from the box. It rattled viciously in response, trying to move closer so it could crush her fingers beneath it. She pulled her arm back quickly, watching the box with wide eyes as it tried to follow her towards the edge of the pillar. Before it could leap off and start stomping on her toes, it was forced back into position, as though it was magicked in some way not to leave the stone.

She stared at the box for a moment, trying to convince herself that she could do it. With each inhale, she thought to herself: _do it! Just lift the lid. One quick motion and all the fear that comes with waiting will be over._

Just lift the lid. Just lift the lid.

She repeated that thought over and over, but her hand wouldn’t move, paralyzed by fear at her side.

Trying to find strength, she thought of Bellamy’s glow of affection and the way he always, _always_ put her first. He would give her the stars and the sky if she asked, and he would never complain.

She could do this. After all her talk, she could love him the way he deserved to be loved. Selflessly and unrepentantly. She could be her best self for him — and for herself.

Her fingers traced along the dime and seashell in her pocket before finally reaching up again towards the box. They hovered in the air for a moment, still hesitant to make contact.

Finally, squeezing her eyes shut tight, she grabbed the lip of the lid and threw it back.

A whooshing sound emanated all around her, forcing her eyes open. From the open box flew hundreds and hundreds of red butterflies, wings dripping at the edges with something that looked a lot like human blood.

They circled her so viciously that she couldn’t see anything else around her, her vision clouded entirely by the red and black pattern they wore. She tried to bat some of those closest to her face away, feeling like they were going to crush her until she couldn’t breathe, but it only encouraged them to fly closer, biting at her fingers with painful little pinpricks until she cradled her hands against her chest protectively.

When the swarm died down around her, she was no longer on the cliff’s edge. Instead, she stood in the one place she never wanted to visit again: the mess hall of Mount Weather.

She spun around in a panic, trying to find an exit. Instead, she found Maya standing in front of her, wide eyed and alive.

“Clarke.”

“Maya? I’m—” She blinked in shock, hands still cradled to her body. “What am I doing here?”

Maya turned her head to the side in confusion, the movement unnaturally slow and calculated. She looked more like a robot or a puppet on strings than a person. Her eyes hardly even blinked, trained completely on Clarke’s face as she watched her with a curious gaze. 

“You didn’t think you’d have to answer for what you’ve done? That you could just disappear and decide you were done feeling guilty?”

“No, I… You know I didn’t want to do what I did, Maya. You have to know.”

“Does it matter?”

Maya swept her arms out to the side, and as she did, Clarke saw dozens of children, from newborn babies to older teens who could’ve easily been members of the hundred, slumped over in piles on the floor. She could see the radiation burns littering their skin.

“What you wanted?” Maya clarifies. “Does it matter? When this is what you caused? Do you even feel regret?”

“Of course I do!” Clarke cried, watching in horror as the children’s eyes all opened, bloodshot and pained, and turned towards her. “I regret what happened every single day of my life! I am still working to atone for my actions, but I— I _can’t._ I can’t change what I’ve done. I can’t change the position Cage put me in. I can’t change how I responded.” Her voice broke, tears filling her eyes. “I can only try to be better in the future.”

“The future,” Maya murmured, watching her coldly. The children all rose around them, older ones holding the hands of toddlers or carrying the infants. They walked closer, boxing her in from all sides.

Maya didn’t move from before her, but Clarke watched in real time as her perfect skin broke out into similar burns all over her face, neck, and hands. She shook as they erupted, the pain on her face the first thing that made her seem truly real. Clarke saw the tears that welled up in her eyes before they spilled over onto the burns, only agitating them further.

“You get to be better in the future.” Maya laughed, the sound sarcastic and grating. “What a joke, Clarke. None of us _have_ a future because of you! Don’t you see?”

The children moved like zombies, closer and closer until Clarke didn’t know where to turn. One touched her hand, seeming to almost marvel at her unblemished skin. Another tugged on her hair, and when she turned around, it was a baby held in another child’s arms — only maybe three months old, hand curled around a lock of hair in fascination.

“I’m sorry,” she gasped out, looking around her at their faces. Unlike Maya, they didn’t seem the least bit alive. Even when they were touching her, they weren’t truly animated. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I had to— had to choose. I couldn’t save everyone.”

“No,” Maya said, a cruel smile on her face. “You couldn’t save everyone, could you?”

She gestured behind her, and when a few of the children stepped aside, she saw Wells standing there in confusion. He looked around, uncertain of where he was or how he’d gotten there.

“Clarke?” He asked, eyes landing finally on hers. Then he let out a relieved sigh. “God, Clarke. Where have you been? I thought something happened to you.”

“Wells—”

“When you said you didn’t want to come with me to the lake, I—”

Then a growl seemed to ring out from every direction, the sound deep and foreboding. 

Wells’s face swiveled to the side in shock, as though he could see something she couldn’t. Before she could even reach out to him, he was sprawled out across the floor, bowled over by an invisible _something._ He looked up at the empty air in horror as huge claw marks appeared in his side, the clothing ripping to show gaping wounds, blood seeping out of them too quickly to patch up.

“Clarke,” he cried out, eyes dancing across the room in search of her. “Clarke!”

“I’m here,” she cried, trying to run to his side. The children crushed in tighter, holding her hands by her sides, but she pushed them away as quickly as she could, needing to be with him. “I’m here, Wells. Please, I’m here.”

“Clarke,” he said again, fear in his voice. It was like he couldn’t hear her responses, and he just kept repeating her name as a lament. “Clarke, please. Please don’t leave me here.”

His hands shook as he tried to hold the wounds closed, but his fingers only came away slippery with blood.

Shaking herself free of the children, she ran to him and knelt by his side. “It’s okay, Wells. I’m here. I’m not leaving you.”

“Clarke,” he whispered, looking up at her with glazed eyes. She wondered if he could actually see her, or if he was looking at something else entirely. If maybe he was staring up at the night sky, or the window overlooking the earth from space, or maybe the ceiling of his bedroom on the Ark. They always used to lay on his bed facing the ceiling as they shared tidbits about their days. “Clarke, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, watching as one of her tears splashed onto his cheek. “I’m so sorry. I should’ve gone to the river with you that night. I should’ve protected you.”

“Nothing—” He coughed, blood spilling from his lips. “Nothing you could’ve done. Better you weren’t… weren’t hurt too.”

“I should’ve helped you.”

He grabbed her hand in his, the bright crimson blood staining her skin. “Can still help me. Please.” 

His eyes seemed to focus on her face for one second, a look of recognition and sadness in his eyes, before they closed again as the pain overcame him.

“Please,” he grunted out again.

When she looked down at their hands, there was a crudely hewn knife there, her fingers wrapped around it as if it had been there the whole time. It looked as though it had been forged out of some scrap from the landing. 

“Please.”

With a shaking hand, she raised the knife to his throat, knowing what she needed to do. It was exactly what she’d done in real life — the action that still often haunted her nightmares. She’d never wanted to hurt Wells. Never wanted to do this—

Swallowing the bile trying to climb its way up, she slit his throat as cleanly as she could, wanting it to be quick and painless.

“Thanks,” he whispered, the sound more a gargle than a word, but she heard it nonetheless.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, watching as his eyes dimmed for the final time. She would never forget that moment for the rest of her life.

A hand moved to rest on her shoulder.

“Your first kill,” Maya said quietly.

Clarke wiped her tears away hastily, not wanting to give Maya the upper hand. “A mercy kill. It’s not the same. I didn’t want to hurt him, but he was already dying.”

“You don’t protect what matters.”

She closed her eyes, overcome with grief. She would’ve done anything for Wells in those days. She would do anything for Bellamy _now._

She turned to face Maya. “I can protect what matters.”

“Really? Because you couldn’t protect me, but I guess I never really mattered to you in the first place. I was a means to an end, wasn’t I?” She smiled harshly, the blisters on her face busting open to leak an ugly puss. “And you didn’t stick around to protect your people. Who knows what Octavia’s done to them since you left? You didn’t even ask her about the dark years before leaving them to their own devices.”

Clarke curled her hands into fists at her side, trying not to let Maya’s words get to her.

“I can’t save everyone. I’m not god. I never pretended to be capable of doing the impossible.”

“Oh, _now_ you’re not god? Choosing who lives and dies isn’t playing god?”

“I did what I could for the people that I could. If I could’ve saved everyone, I would’ve tried, but it wasn’t in my control.”

“Couldn’t help us after we _saved you,_ Clarke. You only got as far as you did because we helped you.”

“I know,” she cried, the words coming up on a sob. When she looked at the floor behind her, she saw that Wells’s body was gone, but the red puddle of blood remained on the floor. “I know you did.”

“If you couldn’t save us, what makes you think you’re any use to Bellamy? What makes you think you're worth enough to pass this test?”

For the first time in several minutes, she was reminded that this was all fake — that this was a test to prove herself.

It seemed silly and cruel, but she didn’t know what else gods had to fill the days anymore, so it wasn’t especially surprising. Perhaps, after all the harm Hodneswor had caused in Bellamy’s life, he just wanted to be really certain that his partner was worthy. Or maybe it was just entertaining to see her like this.

Whatever it was, she couldn’t focus on that now.

“I love Bellamy. It’s not about protecting him because I trust that he can protect himself. But I love him, and I will do whatever it takes to help him.”

“Whatever it takes?” Maya asked, the vindictive look on her face making Clarke think that she’d just backed herself into a corner.

“Almost whatever it takes.”

“We’ll see.”

Then she took a step forward, grabbing a fistful of Clarke’s hair and jerking her arm to bash Clarke’s head into the wall.

“Wha—?” Clarke asked, reaching a hand up to check for blood on the back of her head, brain still rattling around in her skull. “What was that for?”

“Fight me, Clarke.”

She looked up from her hand, unable to tell if the blood on it was hers or Wells’s, to give Maya a confused stare.

“I’m not gonna fight you. That’s never been what this is about.”

“Oh? Well if you ever want to leave this place, then I’d recommend fighting back. Otherwise,” she smiled, “I’ll kill you. And I won’t feel a single ounce of remorse.”

“I don’t want to fight you, Maya. I never wanted any of this. You were my friend.”

Maya smiles, blood running down her cheeks. “Bit late for that, don’t you think?”

With that she forced Clarke up against the same wall, aiming a punch for her gut.

Clarke let out a pained breath of air, hunching over to protect herself.

“Fight back.” Maya taunted.

With Clarke bent over slightly, she was at the perfect angle for Maya to thrust her elbow into Clarke’s solar plexus, and the pain made her see stars for a second. 

“Fight back.”

Maya’s fist flew towards Clarke’s face, but Clarke grabbed her arm before it could connect, twisting it behind Maya’s back so she couldn’t do any more damage. She stood behind Maya, waiting for the next attack, but instead the woman stilled.

“Better. Now keep going. Fight back.”

“I told you, I don’t want to fight. I never wanted any of this to happen and I still don’t. You aren’t my enemy.”

“Easy to say that now when we’re all just a memory to you.”

“I wasn’t your enemy either,” she continued, stepping away quickly as Maya tried to throw her head back hard enough to smash Clarke’s nose in. “I wasn’t. Cage chose this for you.”

“You think Cage is the enemy?”

“Of course he was. He put my back to a wall and made me choose between my people or his. What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know, Clarke.” The words came out with a harsh laugh, like they were in on the same horrid joke. “I don’t know.”

When Maya turned around to face her again, she wasn’t Maya at all.

Instead, she was tall, and smarmy, and male.

“Cage.” 

“You want to fight the enemy, Clarke? Fine. I can accept your terms.”

Then he grabbed Clarke, pulling her back to his chest as his hand went around her throat.

“Fight back.”

She panicked for a moment as his hand tightened, but then instinct kicked in. Like Maya had done only a moment before, she threw her head back, hoping to break his nose. He just tutted behind her, drawing back enough that it didn’t land. One arm tightened around her middle as the other gripped her throat harder, making her see stars.

She thrashed against him, trying to break free of his hold, but he seemed stronger here than he should. 

“Good,” he whispered in her ear, his breath hot on her skin. “I like your fear.”

As her vision clouded further and her head began to pound, she made a last-ditch effort to throw him off. She hooked one of her lower legs back around his, pulling forward until the leg was forced to buckle. With all the force left in her, she leaned forward until he was off balance enough that they both tumbled to the ground.

As he fell, his hands loosened around her, and she took the opportunity to scuttle back on the ground as far away as she could get.

“That was better,” he said with a serene smile, though his voice came out as Maya’s again. “It’s nice to see you every bit as afraid as they were.”

He stood up, dusting his suit off as he walked slowly towards her. In pain from Maya’s attacks and the recent choking, she could only crawl backwards. She could hear the distant sounds of waves crashing below them, and she tried to remember that they were on cliffs despite the appearance of Mount Weather around them.

“Are you going to kill me?”

She kept moving back, watching warily as he stalked closer and closer. Her hand sent a little rock or bit of debris flying, and she could hear as it plummeted over the side of the cliff behind her.

Wide eyed in panic, she turned to stare, needing to see the drop, but there was nothing to see. Just more of the same room looking completely innocent behind her.

She swallowed, knowing she couldn’t risk going any further without falling. She couldn’t even move right or left, uncertain if she’d reached some kind of rocky point, from which she’d tumble down if she moved in any direction. The only way was forward, and forward was…

“It would probably be fun to kill you,” he mused, tapping his chin in thought.. “But not nearly as fun as what I could do instead.”

“What do you mean?”

He nodded his head towards her, gesturing down. When she looked at her hand, it was wrapped around the grip of a handgun.

He smirked.

And she hated him — she really, _really_ hated him. Even when she was trying to be better, she couldn’t imagine any just universe that wanted her to spare Cage Wallace, the man who tortured untold numbers of grounders and who was willing to kill all of her people, even when they could’ve safely donated what was needed over time. 

He’d leveraged the lives of his entire population to further his pride, and he’d lost. What he’d forced her to do was unthinkable— 

She raised the gun, pointing it at his head.

He laughed. “Strange what happens to your non-violent ideology when there’s a gun in your hand, Clarke.”

“Most people are capable of redemption, but I struggle to imagine you as one of them.”

His smile grew, turning his face into something grotesque. “I’m not, but it hardly matters. Go ahead, pull the trigger.”

She squeezed her finger around it, swearing under her breath when nothing happened.

“Oops, forgot to mention. Can’t shoot me. I’m in charge here.”

“Then why give me the gun?”

“You said you’d do whatever it takes to help Bellamy.”

Then he gestured to the side, and suddenly Octavia, Raven, and Finn were standing to his right, hands tied behind their backs and mouths gagged.

“So shoot one, and you’ll save Bellamy.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t come here to protect Bellamy from some great threat. I only wanted his curse lifted. But that’s not worth murder, and I know he’d agree with me.”

“I guess that’s true. But like I said, I’m in charge.”

Then, sweeping his hand out to the left, Bellamy appeared, his body formed of the darkest night even under the fluorescents. Cage held his own gun, the barrel pressed against Bellamy’s head.

“Don’t do it, Clarke,” Bellamy whispered, and she worried for a moment that it was really him. That he was really here, and she really had to decide if she could kill someone to protect him. “Don’t listen to him. I’m not worth this.”

“Kill one of them. Just one, and I let him go.” Cage lowered his gun, stepping away from Bellamy entirely. He circled her friends like a vulture, and their eyes grew fearful as he came closer. “Just one. I even brought you this one,” he said, kicked at Finn’s feet, “to make it easier. He wanted to be with you without breaking up with Raven, right? It would hardly be a loss to kill him.”

“How do you know about that?”

Cage’s form shrunk again, leaving Maya in his place. “Because I’m in your head, Clarke. I know your fears. _I can see you.”_

The words sent a shiver down her spine, feeling bare before so many sets of eyes.

_I can see you._ Those were the words she’d always whispered to Bellamy, assuring him that despite the emptiness of his appearance, she knew exactly who he was. She _knew._

But now, in just the same way, Maya could see inside Clarke. 

She knew that what could be found there wasn’t half so good as what she could see in Bellamy.

“I’m not going to shoot them,” she said, voice quivering. The gun stayed at her side, arm limp. “I won’t do it.”

“I can give you a knife if you’d prefer,” Maya said. Behind them all, she saw Wells standing there again, running through the exact same scene as before. The invisible predator mowed him down, clawing at his skin until there were ribbons cut into his chest. But without her there to put him out of his misery this time, he just kept crying out, bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. “ After all, we know you’re pretty handy with those.”

“No.” Despite how weakly the word came out, she felt resolved to her answer. “I won’t do it. I won’t kill them.”

“Fine.” With a wave of her arm, the others disappeared in smoke, and within a second it was as if they’d never been there. The only one left was Bellamy. “Put the gun to your own head, then.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that your schtick? Besides killing innocents, I mean. Clarke Griffin, defender of skaikru, always willing to sacrifice herself for others. We’ve heard it all before. You run around like you don’t fear death, and now I’m wondering if you really don’t. So show me. Put the gun to your head and pull the trigger. Sacrifice yourself for him, and this can all end.”

Clarke didn’t move, body frozen.

“Do it,” Maya urged again, stepping closer so that there was no escape. Clarke could still hear the water far below them — there was nowhere to run. “This is your offer. Prove to me that you’re serious about protecting Bellamy.”

Maya’s foot nudged at the gun still loosely wrapped in Clarke’s hand.

“I won’t.”

“Won’t? Or can’t?” She asked curiously, head tilted to the side. Then she dropped down beside Clarke, running a fingertip tauntingly down her forehead and over her cheek. “I thought you weren’t afraid of dying for the people you love. Maybe he’s just not important enough?” She raised her eyebrows skeptically.

“I could do it if I had to,” she whispered. “I could. I just won’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I love Bellamy, and because I know it’s not what he’d want.” She turned, throwing the gun behind her. She longed to hear the cursed object plummet into the sea, but it was as fake as the rest of this room, so it just skittered across the floor behind her until it hit a wall.

“He’d rather you save yourself at his expense?”

Maya stood again, and Clarke had to crane her neck to look up at her. One well-aimed kick and Clarke would go right over the cliffside, never to be seen again.

“If you want to kill me, I’m not sure I can stop you. I’m not sure I even deserve to stop you after everything. But the truth is, for the first time, I don’t want to die for someone.” She shrugged, trying to remember the warmth of Bellamy’s arms each night as she curled around him, naked and contented and so in love. He would never ask this of her, would never want to be the cause of her death. 

Maya bent over, putting her hands on Clarke’s shoulders, like at any moment she might push her to her death. For a second, Clarke held her breath in fear, but then she decided that if this was the end, she wanted to get out these final words.

“I love him. And he deserves so much. So much more than any one person can give, but I’d like to try. For him, and for myself. Because we can have a future together.” Maya scoffed loudly, but Clarke powered through. “I haven’t forgotten you, Maya. Any of you. But I’ve tried to move on because, at some point, I need to stop living in the past. I can’t grieve forever.”

“You could,” Maya said unhelpfully.

Clarke shook her head. “I could, but at what cost? I’m here. I can’t change what I’ve done to get here, but I’m _trying._ Trying to be better and learn from my actions. And that’s why—” She paused, swallowing heavily around a lump in her throat.

Maya pushed gently, and Clarke knew that behind her was open air. It would only take a little more before she would be sent flying.

“That’s why?” Maya prompted her.

“That’s why I won’t die for Bellamy — not when what he deserves is to have me live for him. Live _with_ him, as partners.” Clarke smiled, staring behind Maya at nothing. Bellamy, or the apparition of Bellamy, wasn’t there any longer, but it was like she could feel him around her. “We can be happy together. Have a full life, just the two of us. So I don’t want to die for him. I’m done leveraging my life for others.”

Maya’s fingers curled into the front of Clarke’s henley, pulling her forward until they were practically nose to nose. Clarke couldn’t help but wonder if this was the wind up before the fall.

Instead, Maya raised an eyebrow, appraising the girl before her.

When she opened her mouth, it wasn’t her own voice that Clarke heard. It wasn’t Cage’s either.

It was Hodneswor’s, the same voice that had come from the two-headed deer.

“I guess you are worthy.”

“I am?” She asked, suddenly feeling every bit of whiplash from the events of this day. “Worthy for Bellamy?”

“This was only ever partially about Bellamy,” said the voice in Maya’s body. “Most of it was about _you._ About proving yourself to us. Bellamy was the incentive, the reward.”

“But you’ll—?”

Maya glared at her, annoyed at the question. “I’ll keep my word.”

Then, using the hand still wrapped in Clarke’s shirt, Maya threw Clarke forward, away from the steep drop behind her. She tumbled where Maya sent her, unable to stop herself as the rocks she couldn’t see bit into her palms, leaving behind painful scrapes.

When she rolled to a stop, she looked behind her, watching as the interior of Mount Weather crumbled away. Maya disappeared with it, turning to give Clarke one last curious glance before she melted into the stone beneath her feet.

Her head was pounding, body aching from wounds she wasn’t even certain were real. The cliffside was empty again save her and the two boxes, and she felt a rush of relief that the apparitions of her friends were just that and nothing more.

She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky beneath her, the adrenaline of the morning having worn off. Laying down, she looked up at the sky above her, noticing that it must’ve been much later in the day than she’d realized. Nearly noon at least, when it had only just recently been sunrise.

She rolled over, looking up at the green box, still carefully placed on it’s pillar. The red box sat open and empty, the light inside it having been extinguished. But its twin still glowed green, calling to her to finally open it.

With all the energy left in her body, she rose to her knees, moving the last few meters towards it. Once she sat at its base, face just beneath the box itself, she moved to flip open the lid.

“Clarke!” She heard behind her. The voice rang out like a song, warming her veins in a way that she didn’t think possible. She loved him, she loved him, she loved him.

Instead of turning to look back, she opened the box.

A flash of light sent her reeling backwards, hitting her head off the hard, rocky ground. From where she laid, she could see the beam of green that the box sent in every direction. Unlike the red box, there was something inviting about this light — something safe. She felt like she could curl up here and sleep.

Her eyelids fluttered closed, the pounding in her head exhausting her.

“Clarke! Clarke! Wake up. Please, I— _please.”_

“It’s fine, Bell,” she mumbled, eyes closed against the harsh light of the sun above them as the green faded. She could feel him hovering over her now, knelt at her side. “‘m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” he said angrily. “You’re— Never mind, I’ll yell at you later.”

His hand reached out to her, running over the wound on her head, but just as quickly the motion stopped. He let out a little gasp.

“Don’t open your eyes,” he said quickly, panic lacing his voice. “Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes. In fact, now’s the perfect time for a nap, so why don’t you just rest?”

“What's wrong?” She asked, the words slurring heavily.

Before he could stop her, she opened her eyes a sliver, peeking up at him. He was too panicked to notice, fretting over something she couldn’t see. A wound on her, maybe. But it was fine — she could barely feel them.

“I was right.” She closed her eyes again, letting her head loll to the side.

“Right?”

He moved to pick her up, his hands gently resting beneath her back and knees to carry her.

She could hardly get the words out, too bleary to let them roll off her tongue properly. Still, she tried, wanting him to know the truth.

“You got… mm… stars,” she said, smacking her lips together. He began walking through the woods, and she could feel as the shade of the trees covered her, wrapping them in a loving embrace. “You’re… constellations...”

Whatever he said in response was lost to her as her mind slipped away into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading — I promise we're back to some out of this world fluff in the next chapter after this angstfest :)
> 
> Follow me on twitter @andiebwrites, and please let me know what you thought in the comments!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter! (technically)
> 
> Please enjoy the amazing art created by [Lea](https://helloeurydice.tumblr.com/), which I prompted through [the 100 Fic for BLM](https://t100fic-for-blm.carrd.co/). A donation was made to the ACLU, which fights to protect American civil liberties that are in jeopardy or require reform.

_"Home" by[Lea](https://helloeurydice.tumblr.com/), created for The House Beyond Sunrise_

Clarke came to consciousness slowly, pulled bit by bit from the most restful, comfortable sleep she could remember in a long time. Her whole body felt heavy, and though she could see the light of day from behind her closed eyelids, she was in no hurry to wake up.

There was a moment, as there are many mornings, when she couldn’t remember much of anything — who she was, what she was doing, or indeed who she was with. It was enough to be awake — to exist in the world in a state of complete contentment.

Because even if she didn’t know anything else about her surroundings, she knew she was _safe._ Knew she wasn’t on the run, needing to watch her own back. There was innate peace to this knowledge, and even as she dragged herself away from slumber, she felt the joy of not being hurried. No rush, just rest.

Naturally, that’s when the memories of the previous day caught up with her, and her breath stuttered in her chest. Not from fear of what had already happened, but from—

“Clarke? Are you awake?”

Bellamy’s voice was to her right from his spot on the bed. She could feel the way it dipped lower beneath him, and it made her want to pull him down and curl around him for a moment. His fingertips traced idle patterns into the skin of her arm. Clearly he had been waiting for some time for her to awaken.

But then there was a flash of panic in her, bright and quick, which caused her to spring out of bed, eyes still closed. She moved over to the window, only choosing to open her eyes once she knew he wasn’t in her field of vision. She looked out into the woods at the first real day of spring, flowers shyly appearing from the ground after the months of snow.

Her hands were shaking. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous.

That wasn’t the truth, though. She knew exactly why she was nervous — only the reasoning was so silly. And yet she could feel exactly how changed everything might be from this point, and she knew what needed to be done in the meantime.

“Clarke?” He asked, timidity obvious in his voice. “Are you afraid? I don’t — I don’t want to scare you.”

Her heart clenched in her chest at the words. “No, of course not,” she laughed, the sound coming out wet with tears. How could she be anything other than deliriously happy, and nervous, and filled with hope? She scrubbed the side of her hand against her face.

“Then what’s wrong? I know I said it wasn’t safe before, but you _saw me,_ and no amount of bleariness would’ve stopped you from dying if the curse hadn’t been lifted. And the animals have all been okay, too. So I’m trying not to… not to stress myself out that this can still go wrong. I don’t—” he stopped, choking up on the words, tears threatening to fall. His voice sounded wrecked, having spent hours alone with only these hopes and fears for company. “I don’t want you to be afraid. And I don’t want to be afraid, or to live in the shadows anymore. Please, Clarke. I never thought I’d be able to show you myself. Not like this.”

“I know,” she rushed out. “I swear, you’ll never have to hide again. You’ll have to beg me to stop looking at you for all the time I’ll spend doing it. I’ll trace your face until you have to force me to sleep each night,” she prattled, the words absolute truth. She heard him walk up behind her as she continued to stare aimlessly out the window. His hand curled around her arm from his place behind her. Looking down, she could see the warm golden skin, kissed by the sun and touched by the gods. How she longed to turn around immediately and drink in his splendour. “Still, I need to ask you something first. Just one last thing while we’re still like this.”

His breath was warm on the back of her neck as he pressed closer. His other arm wrapped around her waist, and her hand came to rest on it. There was something endlessly, fascinatingly magnificent about seeing her pale skin juxtaposed against his. The ice of winter and the warmth of spring.

“What, love? Please, ask anything of me and I’ll give it to you.”

“I know you will. I just don’t really know how to actually _ask._ It wasn’t— wasn’t quite so important on the Ark. More a formality than anything, just glorified paperwork. But I never asked you if the grounders had customs or… um, something formalized. I don’t want to do it wrong, and—”

“You’re rambling, Clarke,” he said, brushing her hair over to one shoulder so he could press a kiss to the other. Now assured that her refusal to turn around wasn’t a slight against him, he had evidently decided to make her life more complicated. “You know I’ve never been one to strictly follow ritual. Please, ask. Otherwise I might beat you to it.”

“If you know what I’m going to ask, why don’t you save me from my own incompetence?”

But of course she knew the reason, and she knew why she must continue stumbling along until it was voiced between them.

“I want to hear the words. I want to know that you really want me forever.”

“I do,” she said immediately. Though her eyes had gone dry partway through their conversation, they once again began to shine with tears at the thought. “Of course I want you forever. More than anything. And that’s why I want to ask you like this, so you know that I’ve always meant it, that how lovely you look is secondary to how lovely you _are._ How… how absolutely perfect you have made my life here in our bubble. How it wouldn’t have mattered if this was the whole scope of our lives, this cabin here.”

He smiled against her skin. “What do you want, Clarke? You have to say it.”

Her fingers tightened on his forearm, as though she could affix him to her for eternity by sheer force of will. “I want what I’ve always wanted: to be the one who loves you forever, who makes you feel cherished.” She paused just long enough to take a deep breath. “Please, Bellamy, I… I don’t know how you do it on the ground, but… Please, will you marry me?”

She squeezed her eyes closed, leaning her forehead against the cool condensation on the window; even knowing how he would respond didn’t stop the nervous flutter in her stomach at the words. It all felt so momentous, too big for her small body to hold in.

Instead of giving her an answer, he spun her around in his arms, lips finding hers. She yelped in surprise at the suddenness of the motion, but quickly melted into the kiss, hands tangled in his hair. This was what she wanted for eternity — this warm, safe, loving glow.

“Bellamy,” she whispered breathily, eyes still closed. “You have to say it. I want to hear the words.”

He laughed against her lips, the sound nearly radiant, filling her with so much light. She could feel it begin to seep out of her at the seams, shining into the bright morning. 

“Yes,” he said, pressing quick, eager kisses all over her face: her nose, her eyelids, the rosy blush on her cheeks, the space between her eyebrows, her lips. “Yes. I want you forever.”

Hand on his cheek, she moved so that their foreheads were pressed together. Every innocent touch, every light caress or press of skin, felt dangerously, wonderfully intimate.

“You have me forever. Whatever you want.”

_“Whole galaxies have fallen in my cupped hands,”_ he recited. _“I have drunk the stars.”_

She pulled back, finally opening her eyes to look up at him. The first thing she noticed was the love shining desperately in his eyes. He was lovely all on his own, the true child of a god, and yet it was the happiness ringing so clearly from his expression that made him into something otherworldly. Something she could hardly believe she deserved, and yet something she refused to give up. If he could love her — he, who was tender and compassionate and _good_ — then it must mean that there was goodness in her shining back at him. A beacon in the darkness, leading them to each other.

She brushed her thumb under his eye, collecting the wetness that had gathered there, his brown lashes clumping together. It was strange to be able to see that detail — to catalogue it for no other reason than because she could. He couldn’t help but let out a little gasp as she did, and she knew that he was experiencing, for the first time, the feeling of being seen — being bared before someone else, with his every emotion written in the lines of his face. 

For all the nights she had traced his features over and over, memorizing the feeling of his joys and sorrows, it was different to witness it all before her now. 

For Bellamy, it must be so new and frightening and wonderful to have a moment like this after a lifetime of making himself both figuratively and literally invisible.

“That’s not a love quote,” she whispered, remembering the line from one of his books that he would sometimes read to her from. She recalled illustrating a little scene beside that passage when he’d finished with it for the night.

He laughed. “It’s not my fault Euripides didn’t know a good thing when he saw it. If either of his wives were half as divine as Clarke Griffin, so brave and selfless and so, so _stupid,_ he might’ve thought to use the line more appropriately.”

She tried not to smile, knowing at some point she’d have to answer for all that had occurred in the time between his waking up in bed alone and finding her on the cliffside, the curse lifted. Still, there were more important things to deal with now, and she drew him down, placing a kiss on the bridge of his nose.

“Did you know that your eyes are brown?”

“No,” he said, voice already taking on an awed quality, like he couldn’t quite fathom knowing anything about how he looked. “I only know something about constellations.”

“You haven’t looked? Not even in the reflections from the windows?” At the shake of his head, she tugged on his hand, pressing a kiss to her father’s ring on his finger before pulling him along with her. “I have a little hand mirror in my bag. It’s not very big — just something I was gifted in Actium — but it should be enough for now.”

“Please,” he said, following eagerly along behind her. It made her heart simultaneously break and fill again to hear how desperate and excited he was to catch even a glimpse of himself after so many years of wondering.

“Here,” she said, pulling out the little compact to give to him. “The grand reveal.”

He opened it gingerly, as though the glass might shatter into a million pieces if he tried to see himself in it. That was a curse too, she remembered idly — broken mirrors. And yet it stayed perfectly intact as he stared into it.

There would be no more curses for Bellamy Blake.

“I’m sorry it’s not bigger,” she said as he moved the mirror around, trying to take in everything. He turned his head from right to left, squinting at his own reflection with mild confusion. “We can go to the lake next if you like. The ripples will distort things a bit, but you’ll be able to see the full picture at once.”

In a stupor, clearly hardly listening to her rambling, his only response was, “I have spots.”

“Yes,” she laughed, fingertips reaching out to trace along them. “Freckles.” Then, as she connected them into pictures on his skin, telling the story of gentle Bellamy and his lover Clarke, she added, “Constellations.”

“I like them,” he said, a beautiful, aching wonder in his voice.

She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “I like them too.”

“And you’re still happy with your decision to ask me to marry you before seeing my face?”

The words came out with a teasing laugh, and yet she knew they represented a small but deep insecurity. 

“You are endlessly beautiful, Bellamy,” she said, closing the compact gently in his hand so that she could turn him to face her. She wanted him to see the total sincerity in her eyes. “Maybe even more beautiful than I could’ve pictured in my head, but it’s hardly a surprise. I told you that months ago, curled up together in our bed. I see you. I’ve always seen you, and I’ve always known exactly how perfect and wonderful and _beautiful_ you are.

“I want to marry you today exactly as much as I wanted to marry you yesterday, only maybe with a little more urgency. I should’ve married you after our first time together. After you gave me the paint and we said I love you. After our kiss in the snow. After my nightmare, the first time you held me all through the night and into the morning. After you told me your story. Maybe even as far back as the coat. Those would have all been the best time to marry you. The second best time is immediately. Or at least the exact minute you decide you’re ready.”

“I’m ready,” he said, kissing her with a fervor that she’d never experienced before. “Right now — please. I want to marry you.”

“How do we do it?”

He laughed against her lips. “I don’t know. I’ve never been to a grounder wedding.”

She smiled, her own laugh escaping her. “I guess we’ll just make it up as we go along, then.”

***

She had expected, perhaps foolishly, that a wedding entirely of their own creation would be simple enough, even if he would never permit it to be completely perfunctory. Sweet words and a tender kiss, and then eons of love until they crumbled away together.

But this was Bellamy, so even a half-baked wedding plan concocted at the last second would have it’s own rituals. He would always go as far as possible to make something special for her.

“First,” he said, piling snow into the large basin they used for baths, “we’ll need to wash.”

“Are you trying to tell me I smell?” 

“Not at all.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head, though he was smiling so ridiculously that it could hardly be called a kiss. Then, when the pot of water above the fire began to heat, he poured it into the basin as well, letting it melt the snow and warm the water. “But I think any marriage, regardless of the style, is probably best performed clean.”

She teased her fingers at the hem of her shirt, eyeing him from underneath her lashes. “And what happens when you get me all dirty again tonight?”

He pulled her to him, dragging her shirt up and off, pressing his lips to the divot between her clavicle bones. “Well I suppose I’ll just have to clean you up again, love. Being a husband is a full-time job.” His fingers skated enticingly down her sides, though she knew he had far too many plans for the afternoon to fit in anything truly exciting. “I already take the position very seriously.”

“It sounds awful. Horrible, really, to have to constantly clean me every time you get me dirty. Do you really think you’re up to the task? There’s still time to back out.” She nuzzled her nose against his, laughter evident in her every word.

“Oh, I’m up to the task,” he said with a growl, pulling her pants down quickly before picking her up and dumping her — sweetly, tenderly, and gently, as was his way — into the warm bath. “Get clean while I go work on some other preparations.”

“You’re not going to do it for me, then? Is it only the duty of a husband, but not a fiance?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. If I clean you now, I’m sure we won’t manage to get married before the day’s gone. You’ll have to manage alone this once, wife.”

She smiled up at him, running the water through her hair. She sank back into the warmth, feeling pampered by him even as he made to disappear to some other task. “Not quite your wife yet, according to all your planning and rules.”

He leaned down to kiss her affectionately. “I’m practicing.”

***

When they had both bathed, Bellamy pulled her into their room, sitting her before the fire as he brushed through her long, damp hair. The heat of the flames helped to dry it as he separated it into chunks and began adding gorgeously elaborate braids. They started at the front of her head and worked all the way back, interwoven in a cascading design.

He kept them loose, not tugging too much as he worked. It felt so nice having someone play with her hair that she could’ve curled up right there, warmed as she was by the hearth, and never moved again. A contented little moan slipped out without warning, and Bellamy tugged playfully on a strand of hair at the sound.

She wondered if she could get him to tug on it a little harder later that night, cloaked in darkness. The thought made her cheeks flush.

“When did you learn how to do this?” She asked, lulled into a calm, easy relaxation.

“Braiding is really important to grounder women. My mom used to let me do her hair sometimes. Octavia, too, if she was careful to keep her eyes closed.” He paused for a moment, hands stilling midway through the next braid. “It used to be one of the only times I ever got to touch another human being. I was… so starved for comfort — for any kind of physical interaction. And there was something soothing about the braids.”

“I want to turn around and hug you but I’m not sure you’ll let me.”

“No, don’t,” he said, kissing the back of her neck before resuming his work. “I’m okay. I haven’t felt that way in a long time. The night that I gave you the coat, you reached out to touch me. I pushed you away after a few moments, but only because I was worried that I would beg you to never stop otherwise. It was too much and not enough all at the same time. And even if you didn’t know that, you never stopped trying, slowly and carefully, to reach out to me. Now all I want is to sleep every night of my life wrapped up in you.”

“I want that too,” she said, heart beating heavily in her chest. “I want you to have all of it: every touch, every kiss, every kind word that you’ve ever longed to hear. Everything you thought you’d miss out on in life, too — dancing and racing through the trees and all other sorts of things. All the things that will make you feel alive. Happy and loved.”

“Those were never off the table once I met you. You took me sledding, didn’t you?” He teases. “I do feel happy and loved.” He finished the last braid, tucking in loose flyaways and making sure that everything laid correctly. “I’ve known you love me for weeks now, and I’ve never thought you weren’t saying it in earnest. But now, more than ever, I _know._ I can feel exactly how much you love me and it’s… overwhelming. I feel like I’m living at the center of the universe after so much time barely existing on the outskirts.”

She turned around finally, placing her hand at the back of his neck. There were tears dotting his cheeks, and she kissed them away slowly, letting her lips rest against each for several beats. There was no rush.

“I love you so much. So much that I can hardly remember my life before you were in it. So much it makes my chest feel tight to think about the enormity of it all. You are at the center of my universe because it’s the exact place that a man as amazing as Bellamy Blake belongs. I’m sure now that I always would’ve lived a half life if I’d stayed in space, or if I’d never come to this cabin. You have given me so much of yourself… and so much of myself back, as well. You see me, Bellamy, and I see you. I always have, and I’ve always loved every piece of what I see.”

His tears continued to fall, and she made a valiant attempt to kiss every one of them away. “We should’ve saved all of this for the wedding,” he laughed.

“All of this is the wedding. This is all part of the ritual, and anyways, I want you to walk into it knowing exactly what it is you mean to me... and how desperately I intend to adore you.”

He nudged at her with his nose until his lips touched hers in a languid caress. Wiping at his cheeks, he said, “Now it’s time for the wedding feast.”

“Dinner is held before the actual wedding?” There was nothing that she wanted more at the moment than to be married to him. Dinner hadn’t even been a thought in her head — she could starve for the night if needed. There would be time enough in the morning.

“This one really is a grounder tradition,” he said, pulling her to the table. Somehow, between making baths, cleaning himself, and braiding hair, he’d still found time to put a hearty stew together so it could boil over the fire. “The couple always eats a meal just before their wedding. It’s felt that walking into a new stage of life with a full stomach is good luck. Whatever comes next will be equally fulfilling, and they will always have enough to sustain them.”

He poured them each a generous bowl, though she could hardly imagine eating so much food with the anticipation building steadily in her stomach. Still, she would eat as much as she could manage, not wanting to break with a tradition that clearly mattered to him, even if he’d never been welcomed to a grounder wedding before. 

When he sat across from her, she tapped her foot against his. “We’ve never had a meal sitting face to face before.”

He smiled. “We haven’t done anything face to face before.”

She knocked her foot into his with a little more force this time, saying chidingly, “That’s not true and you know it. Everything we did after dark was face to face, even if I couldn’t see yours clearly. You only escaped being the center of my attention at dinner because we agreed that eating by firelight was better than trying to do it in the dark.”

His foot kicked back into hers, starting a war under the table that lasted the length of the meal. With every bit of the stew that disappeared from her bowl, she smiled. Each bite was a step closer to where she was trying to be.

***

With dinner complete and the clean dishes tucked away, Bellamy took her hand, leading her out the front door and in the direction of the lake. As they walked, he stopped occasionally to pick a flower or two, tucking the tiny, delicate things into her hair.

As they traveled, she thought of all the things he had given her since she’d first arrived months before. Many literal things, like a shelter, food, and the clothes she wore today for their marriage. More of his own creations sat folded on her little bedside stand, and his first gift — her beautiful winter coat — was hanging from a hook on the cabin’s wall.

But there’d been so many other things he’d given her — things she couldn’t put any price to.

Acceptance. Love. A place to find her own sense of peace and purpose after the darkest period of her life.

Friendship. Honesty. Comfort.

The chance to make art again. The opportunity to hear stories, and to feel as hopeful as those characters did.

A partner. A lover.

A husband.

She couldn’t help but grin at the thought, her thumb tracing along the back of his hand. Glancing down at it, she felt the same rush of joy that she had earlier — the same rush that she would likely always feel — in seeing the place where his hand met hers, no longer appearing as though it was swallowed by darkness. He should always be seen like this, gloriously illuminated by the warm light of the setting sun.

When they reached the lake’s edge, he knelt, giving her hand a tug to encourage her down beside him. 

“I debated the right place to do this,” he said quietly, as though speaking too loudly might shatter something precious between them. “For a moment, I thought to do it in front of our fire — the place we’ve shared so many memories. But then I thought… You are a creature of the outdoors. You were cooped up in space for your whole life, and we spent almost all winter inside. So we should be under the sunset — under the emerging stars — for this.”

“I think this is as good a place as any,” she agreed, looking out over the water to see two ducks splashing around now that the snows had all melted. She wondered what this place would look like when the warmth of summer returned. “Plus you helped me get ready by the fire, so that’s already been a part of the ceremony.”

He smiled, tucking an errant curl behind her ear. “I don’t really know how to do this, but I want to do it right.” 

She squeezed his hand, wanting him to know that it was okay if it wasn’t perfect. Neither of them really knew what they were doing, and that’s what made it lovely. Made it them.

“This is already more romantic than anything that happened on the Ark. If you pronounced us married right now, I’d be perfectly content.”

“Not yet,” he smiled teasingly. “We need to make vows.”

She laughed. “Then let me try, and you can tell me if it meets expectations.” She pulled his hand into her lap, holding it between both of hers. “Bellamy, I don’t think I can ever say enough just how grateful I am that I came here all these months ago. I was fading away, disappearing into the winds of earth until I’m certain one day there would’ve been nothing left but the husk of a person.” He frowned, and she pulled his hand up to her lips to place a gentle kiss against the back. Then she closed her eyes, putting a hand on his face to trace his features.

“But then I met you, and you weaved your way into my life slowly and perfectly until I couldn’t imagine any other way of existing. You’ve been beside me for every moment of pain and love and healing, and you showed me how selfless and caring a person can be. Far from the greed and hunger on the Ark; far from the deceptions and war on the ground. Just you and me, safe here in our home. You shared your life with me — gave me access to your bed and your books and your collection of precious items. You gave me a refuge when I needed it. I’ve never imagined that there could be joy and peace like this in my life, and I’m so endlessly thankful that you showed that to me.”

She gently brushed her fingers across in features, tracing over his cheekbones and down his nose. His own eyes fluttered closed, and she could feel his eyelashes brush along her fingertips as she ran them just beneath. Over his lips, up to his eyebrows — she tried to capture each piece of him in her mind’s eye.

“I hope by now that I’ve said it so many times that it’s second nature, ingrained on your soul, but I love you for all that you are. For your goodness, and your quiet, unending strength. You’ve given your whole life to protect others, and now I want to give back to you. To protect you and love you and make you feel half as wonderful as you’ve always made me feel.”

He took a ragged breath in, like even now, after all they’ve been through, the idea of someone devoting themself to _his_ happiness is impossible to believe. That’s okay; she’s prepared to spend the rest of her eternity proving that he’s worth the effort.

“I see you,” he whispered, his strong jaw moving beneath her hands.

Eyes still closed, she smiled. “I see you, too. I always have. Long before today; long before any challenge or test. I see you.”

A warm tear hit her hand, running down the side of her thumb. She opened her eyes, seeing immediately his look of contentment. There was something divine in that face — something beyond this world and the harsh realities it offered. It was impossible to imagine anything but joy when she saw it. 

She brushed the tears away carefully until his own eyes slowly opened, looking at her in wonder.

“I see you,” she repeated. “And I never want that to end. I want our two trees to be intertwined until the end of time — long after we’re both gone. There’s no heaven for me that you don’t belong to.”

“Me neither,” he whispered hoarsely. 

“And that’s why I want to marry you. So that I can spend my life with you. So I can love you as my husband.”

Another tear spilled down from his lashes, and he leaned forward, pressing a warm kiss to her temple. He stayed there for a moment to breathe her in, and she was in no rush to pull away, letting her eyes close as her body was warmed by his affection.

“I think it’s your turn,” she whispered finally.

“It is. But I can hardly find the words.”

“Bellamy Blake at a loss for words? That can’t be right.”

He pulled away, letting out a small laugh. “You shouldn’t tease me for being too in love with you. It’s hardly fair — how can I fight the inevitable?”

“I don’t want you to fight it.”

“Good.”

He moved closer, his hand running down her braids until his fingers found purchase at the nape of her neck, digging gently into the gaps left by the hairstyle. He pulled her forward so that their foreheads were pressed together, noses nearly touching.

“Sometimes… sometimes it scares me to imagine the reality where you never came to the cabin. Where the Ark never came down because the air filtration worked as it was meant to, or where the events of Mount Weather didn’t happen in the same way, or where you chose to stay in Actium in the aftermath. It makes me feel… I don’t know, guilty maybe, to hinge my own joy on your pain. But I can’t imagine it. If you’d never come, I would’ve spent the rest of my life alone, afraid of what the world made me.”

“You don’t have to imagine that. And you don’t have to feel bad for wanting me to be here. I want to be here.”

“I know,” he said, nodding slightly, his forehead brushing hers. “But I still feel bad that it was your suffering that brought you to me.”

“Our suffering brought us to each other. Brought us to this place where we could help each other.”

His hand tightened on the back of her neck, and he leaned in that little extra distance to kiss her.

“I’m so lucky. Too lucky. You’ve brought life and color to my world. You drew in my books and painted the walls. You collected little trinkets found in the forest just because you could — just because it brought you joy to do it. And before you, I was surviving fine here, even if it was lonely. I could make it work, could hunt and cook and do all the things required to keep existing.

“It wasn’t until you came though — this scrap of a thing, jumpy and on edge about the ghost haunting the cabin hidden deep in the woods — that I started to hope for more. You were always so… so fearless. So entirely unbothered by the idea that some potentially grotesque thing was your bedmate, needing you for comfort and care.”

She wanted to argue the point about his being _grotesque,_ as if that had ever been a concern of hers in the first place, but he just hushed her before she had the chance.

“And I tried to make you comfortable here — tried to bring you gifts of food and coats and all kinds of things to make your stay easier. I knew you were in pain. But it wasn’t until you started opening up to me and asking for my story in return that I realized how much… _sadness_ I carried along with me. How haunted I was by the things I’d done and the people I’d hurt along the way.

“But you offered forgiveness and a light to work towards. You showed me that I didn’t have to be afraid of myself, and that I could still be a good person, a person who deserves good things, even the way that I was. Even broken.” 

“You weren’t broken. And you always deserved good things.”

“I know. But I didn’t see that until you made me see it. And I’m so glad, because I want to see myself as someone worthy. I want to have that. And I want you to have someone worthy of you — to be able to be that person without anything holding me back.

“And then— And then you went out prepared to sacrifice _anything_ to give me what no one else could. To give me… I don’t know, a shape. A body. A chance of a normal life with you. And you didn’t have to do that. In fact, part of me is still furious that you tried when it all could’ve gone wrong, but I’m not ungrateful for the gift you’ve given me. As if you hadn’t already changed my life for the better enough, you gave me this. A future with you, wherever we chose. However we wish to live.

“I don’t know where time will take us. I don’t know if we’ll be here forever, or in Actium, or wandering the earth. But I know wherever you are, that’s where I want to be. I want to walk by your side, holding your hand for every wonderful and terrible thing that we face. And when we’re standing on top of the hill looking back on our time together, I know whatever’s behind us will be every bit as golden and beautiful as Baucis and Philemon’s temple. This cabin, this little bubble universe we’ve built together, will always be that for me, no matter where we go.”

She sniffled, trying to stop her own tears, and he moved to press careful kisses to each of her closed eyelids.

“I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered. “You are everything to me.”

She brushed her nose against his once, twice. It was a struggle not to lean in and push him over and crawl on top of him right there in the grass, but she held back.

“I promise to always love and protect you,” he said.

She brought his hand up again so she could place a kiss to the ring he wore. “I promise to always love and protect you.”

“And to support you when you need me, and to tell you when I need your support.”

She repeated his words back to him, eyes twinkling.

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and the end of time.”

She pictured his face, now and the hundreds of times she’d looked at him without a face. She’d seen the heavens then, encapsulated in the darkness.

Yes, she’d follow him into the darkness, into the depths of time and space if that’s what he needed of her.

“I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth and the end of time. Always. Always.”

He smiled widely. “Then I think—”

“Wait,” she interrupted, knowing there was one more oath, one more prayer she wanted to say before they were pronounced married. Something from his world — the world that he’d shown her and welcomed her into. _“Osir heimbri gon noun, fiyanes, en uf gon kik raun os. Ogeda.”_

_We pray for the wisdom, compassion, and strength to live well. Together._

The grounders’ prayer, with her own little addition. The only way she wanted to live out those hopes was together.

He swallowed heavily, but recited the words back to her.

“So we’re married?” She asked, lips brushing over his.

“We’re married.”

“Good.”

Then she did tip him over, crawling up his body to press kisses to each and every part of his face.

And with the sun finally set, the stars illuminated his face until it glowed.

With each piece of clothing she removed, she got to watch as that glow spread across every plane and contour of his bare skin.

***

Afterwards, he pressed a kiss to her brow before bundling her up in his arms. 

“It really isn’t warm enough out here for this.”

“I wasn’t worried about the temperature at the time.”

He rolled his eyes, and she felt a little thrill at being able to _see_ that small motion, that extra indication of Bellamy and his sense of humor. It was a small thing that she never thought she’d get to witness, and now she revelled in it.

“Of course you weren’t, you little temptress. But if I let you sleep out here, you’ll freeze over in the night.”

He stood, walking them back to the cabin as her arms snaked around his neck to hold on.

“I love you,” she murmured, suddenly exhausted. She rested her head against his shoulder. “My husband.”

“I love you too, sleepyhead.”

“You mean _wife,”_ she said, the words only half-audible around a yawn.

He laughed. “My Clarke, my wife.”

“Good,” she murmured. “Mm, I like how it sounds.”

He squeezed her to him that much tighter. “Me too.”

***

When he’d laid her out over their bed, crawling in beside her once the fire was lit, she felt the tiredness leave her, too enraptured by him to sleep. She wanted to look at him, watch as the oranges and reds of the flames caressed his skin, casting shadows and highlights across the parts of him she could only just imagine yesterday.

She cuddled into him, laying her head on his shoulder as her finger ran over his taut skin, connecting the dots between freckles on his chest and abdomen.

“What next?” She asked into the darkness of the room.

“Whatever you want.”

“I’ll go wherever you go. You’re my home, and you’re the one who might want to leave. I’m perfectly happy here with you, but I understand why you might want to see someplace else now that you aren’t trapped here to protect others.”

He ran his hand through the loose hair not contained within the braids. In the morning, she would allow him to fingerbrush them out, knowing that he would likely enjoy that intimacy as much as he’d liked putting them in in the first place.

He shivered as her nail dragged across his nipple.

“I wouldn’t mind leaving at some point. For a little while — certainly not forever. But if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to stay right here with you for now. I want to get to know you all over again in this form, alone in our cabin.”

She buried her smile into his skin. “I think I can make that work. I want to see our home in the bright greens and pinks of summer.”

“So come summer, we’ll re-evaluate.”

“Of course. And you can decide where we go next. If you want to go to Actium, to see the people you never really got to know properly, or if you’d rather go somewhere else. And we’ll always have this place — we’ll always have our home.”

“Our home.” He clutched her close, relaxing back into the bed at the words. Twenty-odd years of pent up pain and sadness seemed to melt off of him at once. 

It wouldn’t be perfect every step of the way; she knew the reunion with Octavia — should it ever come — would be difficult. And he’d spent all of his life with a maximum of two other people, so they would have to work up to a whole society and the crowds that came with it. He might take to it with gusto, but she could more easily picture him holed away with her, wanting to find peace far from those who had always feared him. It would be a lot to adapt to.

So for now, she would enjoy these days — enjoy these simple moments spent alone by their fire, with the stars shining down upon the cabin. All around them, life would return to the world the same way it had returned to her — blooming slowly and beautifully.

And she couldn’t wait to grow with it. To curl around Bellamy until they were two trees joined at the roots, never to be separated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **There will be an epilogue!**
> 
> I know it's sort of cheating since I said this was the last chapter, but I have every intention of including a short epilogue about their trip back to Actium. It won't cover absolutely everything, but there are a few loose ends. However, so many people loved the idea of them staying together at their cabin, happy and unbothered by the realities of ~living in a society~ that I wanted to end the story on these terms. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and sticking along for this journey. If you want to see the eventual epilogue, you can hit the subscribe button at the top of the page to be notified when it posts.
> 
> Comments make me almost as happy as Bellamy and Clarke make each other :)


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